

\0 ~f\ 

v' sK * ^sY/iuj& * ki 

' *•'■•• * V ^ ' ° " 0 A v 

.!••- v> ^ aO- * y# 

* ^ j5 » # o *V8BPV. VV / 




H - 


-.* ^ ^ •. 

O '<> . * * A <, ** . . s 

O- y 0 ° “ • . %, 

- »^ W ■" 

■ >° -V. . 





° A*' / 

’ *P° \ ‘ 

<9 t ! * «» *> 

4^ * ^ ^ ♦ 

❖ * 


V *** 

C, ^ * .Vv>» 

,* > v ^ ‘Wx* ^ ^ %. 

<. */tv* s ^ a ^ 

<0 0 ^ * 1 '** ^ 0 _ ^ 
f ^ t sv'T^l^ f O 1 7> • c-^TyV. ^ ^ 

v * a?/(rfSP? - t c<n\\\ W * 



■» ^l? ^ * 

L ^ <N H 

2*- '•fev* : 

^ o vO ^ 


o j0 V* 



























COLLECTION 

OF 

GERMAN AUTHORS. 

VOL. 29. 


THE VULTURE MAIDEN BY W. yon HILLERN. 


IN ONE VOLUME. 







THE 


VULTURE MAIDEN 

[DIE GEIER-WALLY.] 


BY 


WILHELMINE von HILLERN. 



FROM THE GERMAN 


BY 

C. BELL AND E. F. POYNTER. 


Authorized Edition. 


LEIPZI Gr 1876 

BERNHARD TAUCIINITZ. 

LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, LOW & SEARLE. 
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 , FLEET STREET. 

PARIS: C. REINWALD & C IK , 15 , RUE DES SAINTS p£.RES. 


The Author reserves the Right of dramatizing this Tale. 



409416 

★ >31 



t 

V 
r 
• t 






. • 














i • - • 












. 


V \ 












TO BERTHOLD AUERBACH, Esq. 


Permit me to offer you the fruit that I have 
gathered in a field peculiarly your own. Under 
your powerful hand the difficult ground of German 
peasant-life has yielded up its wealth of poetry; and 
if others, with myself, now reap in the field tilled 
by you, it is our first duty to think of you with 
gratitude, and to render to you the honour that is 
rightly yours. 

Freiburg in Brisgau, April 1875. 


The Author. 


' 





























. 



















. 








































































































. 






































































* 














































t fr 















































N 

















r» 























































» 


















' 

































* 




■ 


















¥ - 


CONTENTS 


Page 


INTRODUCTION 





i 

CHAPTER I. Joseph, the Bear-hunter 





9 

— II. Unbending . . . 





3i 

— III. Outcast 





39 

— IV. Murzoll’s Child 





48 

— V. Old Luckard . 





60 

VI. A Day at Home . 





77 

— VII. “Hard Wood” . 





92 

— VIII. The Klotz Family of Rofen 




• » 

in 

— IX. In the Wilderness 





131 

— X. The Mistress of the Sonnenplatte 




162 

— XI. At Last 





194 

— XII. In the Night 





219 

— XIII. Back to her Father 





239 

— XIV. The Message of Grace 


• 

* 


258 



THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


A TALE OF THE TYROLESE ALPS. 


Far down in the depths of the Oetz valley, a 
traveller was passing. On the eagle heights of the 
giddy precipice above him, stood a maiden’s form, 
no bigger than an Alpine rose when seen from 
below, yet sharply defined against the clear blue 
sky, the gleaming ice-peaks of the Ferner. There 
she stood firm and tranquil, though the mountain 
gusts tore and snatched at her, and looked without 
dizziness down into the depths where the Ache 
rushed roaring through the ravine, and a sunbeam 
slanting across its fine spray-mist painted glimmer- 
ing rainbows on the rocky wall. To her, also, the 
traveller and his guide appeared minutely small as 
they crossed the narrow bridge, which thrown high 
over the Ache, looked from above like a mere 
straw. She could not hear what the two were say- 
ing, for out of those depths no sound could reach 
her but the thundering roar of the waters. She 
could not see that the guide, a trimly-attired cha- 

The Vulture- Maiden. I 


2 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


mois-hunter, raised his arm threateningly, and point- 
ing her out to the stranger said: “That is certainly 
the Vulture-maiden standing up yonder; no other 
maid would trust herself on that narrow point, so 
near the edge of the precipice. See, one would 
think that the wind must blow her over, but she 
always does just the contrary to what other reason- 
able Christian folk do.” 

Now they entered a pine-forest, dark, damp, 
and cold. Once more the guide paused, and sent 
a falcon-glance upwards to where the girl stood, 
and the little village spread itself out smilingly on 
the narrow mountain plateau in the full glow of 
the morning sun, which as yet could hardly steal a 
sidelong ray into the close, grave-like twilight of 
the gorge. “Thou needn’t look so defiant, there’s 
a way up as well as down,” he muttered, and dis- 
appeared with the stranger. As though in scorn of 
the threat, the girl sent up a halloo, so shrilly re- 
peated from every side, that a flying echo reached 
even the silent depth of the fir-wood with a ghostly 
ring, like the challenging cry of the chamois-hunter’s 
enemy, the fairy of the Oetz valley. 

“Ay, thou may’st scream; I’ll soon give it back 
to thee,” he threatened again; and throwing him- 
self stiffly back, and supporting his neck with both 
hands, he pealed forth, clear and shrill as a post- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 3 

horn, a cry of mocking and defiance up the moun- 
tain-side. 

“She hears that, maybe?” 

“Why do you call the girl up there the Vulture- 
maiden?” asked the stranger down in the moist, 
dim, rustling forest. 

“Because, Sir, when she was only a child she 
took a vulture’s nest, and fought the old bird,” said 
the Tyrolese. “She is the strongest and handsomest 
girl in all the Tyrol, and terribly rich, and the lads 
let her drive them off, so that it’s a shame to see. 
There’s not one of them sharp enough to master 
her. She is as shy as a wild cat, and so strong 
that the boys declare no one can conquer her: if 
one of them comes too near, she knocks him down. 
Well, if ever I went up there after her, I’d conquer 
her, or I’d tear the chamois-tuft and feather from 
my hat with my own hands.” 

“Why have you not already tried your luck 
with her, if she is so rich and so handsome?” asked 
the traveller. 

“Well, you see, I don’t care for girls like that 
— girls that are half boys. It’s true, she can’t help 
herself. The old man — Stromminger is his name 
— is a regular wicked old fellow. In his time he 
was the best wrestler and fighter in the mountains, 
and it sticks to him still. He has often beaten the 

i* 


4 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


girl cruelly and brought her up like a boy. She 
has no mother, and never had one, for she was such 
a big strong child that her mother could scarcely 
bring her into the world, and died of it. That’s 
how it is the girl has grown up so wild and master- 
ful.” — This was what the Tyrolese down in the 
ravine related to the stranger, and he had not de- 
ceived himself. The maiden who stood out yonder 
above the precipice was Wallburga Stromminger, 
daughter of the powerful “chief-peasant,” also 
called the Vulture-maiden; and he had spoken truly, 
she deserved this name. Her courage and strength 
were boundless as though eagle’s wings had borne 
her, her spirit rugged and inaccessible as the jagged 
peaks where the eagles build their nests, and where 
the clouds of heaven are rent asunder. 

Wherever anything dangerous was to be done, 
there from her childhood upwards, was Wally to be 
found, putting the lads to shame. As a child even 
she was wild and impetuous as her father’s young 
bull, which she had known how to subdue. When 
she was scarcely fourteen years old, a peasant had 
descried on a rugged precipice a golden vulture’s 
nest with one young one, but no one in the village 
dared venture to seize it. Then the head-peasant, 
scoffing at the valiant youth of the place, declared 
he would make his Wallburga do it. And sure 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


5 


enough Wally was ready for the deed, to the horror 
of the women and the vexation of the lads. “It is 
a tempting of Providence,” said the men. But Strom- 
minger must have his jest; all the world must learn 
by experience that the race of Stromminger down 
to the children’s children might seek its match 
in vain. 

“You shall see that a Stromminger girl is worth 
ten of you lads,” he said laughing to the peasants, 
who streamed together to witness the incredible 
feat. Many grieved for the beautiful and stately 
young life that might perhaps fall a sacrifice to the 
father’s boasting; still, everyone wished to see. As 
the precipice to which the nest clung was almost 
perpendicular, and no human foot could tread it, a 
rope was fastened round Wally’s waist. Four men, 
foremost amongst whom was her father, held it, 
but it was horrible to the lookers-on to see the 
courageous child, armed only with a knife, walk 
boldly to the edge of the plateau, and with a 
vigorous spring let herself down into the abyss. If 
the knot of the rope should give way, if the vulture 
should tear her in pieces, if in her descent she 
should dash out her brains against some unnoticed 
crag? It was a God-forsaken act of Stromminger’s 
so to risk the life of his own child. Meanwhile 
Wally sailed fearlessly through the air, till midway 


6 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

down the precipice she exultingly greeted the young 
vulture, who ruffled his downy feathers, and piping, 
gnawed with his shapeless beak at his strange 
visitor. Hardly pausing to consider, she seized the 
bird which now raised a lamentable cry with her 
left hand and tucked it under her arm. There was 
a rushing sound in the air, and in the same instant 
a dark shadow came over her, a roaring filled her 
ears, and a storm of blows fell like hail upon her 
head. Her one thought was “The eyes — save the 
eyes,” and pressing her face closely against the 
rock, she hit blindly with the knife in her right 
hand at the raging bird that threw itself upon her 
with its sharp beak, its claws and wings. Mean- 
while the men above hastily drew in the rope. Still 
for a time during the ascent, the battle in the air 
continued; then suddenly the vulture gave way, 
and plunged into the abyss — Wally’s knife must 
have wounded it. Wally however came up bleed- 
ing, her face torn by the rocks, and holding in her 
arms the young bird, that at no price would she 
have relinquished. 

“But, Wally/’ cried the assembled people, “why 
didn’t thou let the young one go, then the vulture 
would have loosed its hold.” “Oh,” she said simply, 
“the poor thing can’t fly yet, and if I had let him go, 
he’d have fallen down the precipice and been killed.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


7 


This was the first and only time in her whole 
life that her father gave her a kiss; not because he 
was touched by Wally’s noble compassion for the 
helpless creature, but because she had performed 
an heroic action that would reflect honour on the 
illustrious race of Stromminger. 

Such was the maiden who stood out now on 
the projecting rock, where the foot could hardly find 
room to rest, and dreamily looked down into the 
ravine over which she hung; for often, with all her 
impetuosity, a strange stillness would come over 
her, and she would gaze sadly before her, as though 
she saw something for which she longed, and which 
she yet might not attain. It was an image that al- 
ways remained the same, whether she saw it in the 
grey morning twilight, or in the golden glow of 
noon, in the evening red, or in the pale moonlight, 
and for a year it had followed her wherever she 
went or stood, below in the valley, or above on the 
mountain. And when, as now, she was out and 
alone, and her large chamois-eyes, at once wild and 
shy, wandered across to the white-gleaming glaciers, 
or down into the shadow-filled gorge where the 
Ache thundered on its way, still she sought him 
whom the image resembled; and when now and 
then a traveller, minutely small in the distance, 
glided past below, she thought, “That may be he,” 


8 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


and a strange joy came to her in the fancy that she 
had seen him, even though she could distinguish 
nothing but a human form, no bigger than a mov- 
ing image in a peep-show. And now as those two 
wayfarers passed along, of whom the one enquired 
about her, and the other threatened her, she thought 
again, “It may be he.” Her bosom seemed too 
tight for her beating heart, her lips parted, and like 
a lark set free, her joy soared up in a pealing song. 
And as the hunter in the wood below heard its 
dying echo, so an echo of his reply reached her, 
and she listened with an intoxicated ear — it might 
be his voice! and a blushing reflection of her warm 
rush of feeling spread itself over the wild, defiant 
face. She could not hear that the song was a song 
of scorn and defiance. Had she known it, she would 
have clenched her sinewy fist, she would have tried 
the strength of her arm, and over her face dark 
shadows would have passed, till it grew pale as the 
glaciers after sunset. But now she sat down on the 
stone that supported her, and swinging her feet as they 
hung over the abyss, she rested her graceful head 
on her hands, and gave herself up to dreaming over 
again all the strange things that had happened that 
first time that she ever saw him. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


9 


CHAPTER 1. 

Joseph, the Bear-hunter. 

It was at Whitsuntide, just a year before, that 
her father had taken her to Solden for the confirma- 
tion; thither the bishop came every other year, 
because there is a high-road that leads to Solden. 
She felt a little ashamed, for she was already sixteen 
years old, and so tall. Her father would not let 
her be confirmed before; he thought that with it 
would come at once love-makings and suitors — and 
time enough for that! Now she was afraid that the 
others would laugh at her. But no one took any 
notice: the whole village when they arrived was in 
excitement, for it was said that Joseph Hagenbach 
of Solden had slain the bear that had shown itself 
up in Vintschgau, and for which the young men in 
all the country round had watched in vain. Then 
Joseph had set out across the mountains, and by 
Friday last he had already got him. The messenger 
from Schnalser had brought the news early, and 
Joseph himself was soon to follow. The peasants 
of Solden, who were waiting in front of the Church, 
were full of pride that it should be a Soldener that 


10 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


had performed the dangerous deed, and talked of 
nothing but Joseph, who was indisputably the finest 
and strongest lad in all the mountains, and a shot 
without a rival. The girls listened admiringly to 
the tales of Joseph’s heroic deeds, how no mountain 
was too steep for him, no road too long, no gulf 
too wide, and no danger too great; and when a 
pale, sickly-looking woman came towards them across 
the village-green, they all rushed up to her and 
wished her joy of the son who had won such glory. 

“He’s a good one, thy Joseph,” said the men 
cordially; “he’s one from whom all may take exam- 
ple.” “If only thy husband had lived to see this 
day, how rejoiced he would have been,” said the 
women. 

“No, no one would ever believe,” cried one 
quaintly, “that such a fine fellow was thy son — not 
looking at thee.” 

The woman smiled, well-pleased. “Yes, he’s a 
fine-grown lad, and a good son, there can’t be a 
better. And yet, if you’ll believe it, I never have 
an hour’s peace for him; there’s not a day that I 
don’t expect to see him brought home with his limbs 
all broken. It’s a cross to bear!” 

The religious procession now appeared upon 
the place, and put an end to the talk. The people 
thronged into the little church with the white- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. II 

robed, gaily-wreathed children, and the sacred office 
began. 

But the whole time Wally could think of no- 
thing but Joseph, the bear-slayer, and of all the 
wonderful things he must have done, and of how 
splendid it was to be so strong and so courageous, 
and to be held in such great respect by every one, 
so that no one could get the better of him. If 
only he would come now, whilst she was in Solden, 
so that she also might see him; she was really quite 
burning to see him. 

At length the confirmation was over, and the 
children received the final blessing. Suddenly, on 
the green outside in front of the church, there was 
a sound of wild shouting and hurrahs. “He has 
him, he has the bear!” Scarcely had the bishop 
spoken the last words of the blessing when every 
one rushed out, and joyfully surrounded a young 
chamois-hunter, who, accompanied by a troop of 
fine and handsome lads from the Schnalser valley 
and from Vintschgau, was striding across the green. 
But handsome as his comrades might be, there was 
not one of them that came near him. He towered 
above them all, and was so beautiful — as beautiful 
as a picture. It seemed almost as though he shone 
with light from afar; he looked like the St. George 
in the church. Across his shoulders he carried the 


12 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


bear’s fell, whose grim paws dangled over his broad 
chest. He walked as grandly as the emperor, and 
never took but one step when the others took two, 
and yet he was always ahead of them; and they 
made as much ado about him as though he had 
been the emperor indeed, dressed in a chamois- 
hunter’s clothes. One carried his gun, another his 
jacket; all was wild excitement, shouting and huzza- 
ing — he alone remained composed and tranquil. 

He went modestly up to the priest, who came 
towards him from the church, and took off his gar- 
landed hat. The bishop, who was a stranger, made 
the sign of the cross over him and said, “The Lord 
was mighty in thee, my son! With his help thou 
hast performed what none other could accomplish. 
Men must thank thee — but thou, thank thou the 
Lord!” 

All the women wept with emotion, and even 
Wally had wet eyes. It was as though the spirit of 
devotion that had failed her in church, first came 
to her now, as she saw the stately hunter bow his 
proud head beneath the priest’s benedictory hand. 
Then the bishop withdrew, and now Joseph’s first 
enquiry was, “Where is my mother? Is she not 
here?” 

“Yes, yes,” she cried, “here am I,” and fell into 
her son’s arms. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


1 3 


Joseph clasped her tightly. “See, little mother,” 
he said, “I should have been sorry for thy sake not 
to come back again. Thou dear little mother, 
thou’d never have known how to get on without me, 
and I too should have been loth to die without 
giving thee one more kiss.” 

Ah, it was beautiful, the way he said it! Wally 
had quite a strange feeling — a feeling as though 
she could envy the mother who rested so contentedly 
in the loving embrace of the son, and clung so 
tenderly to the powerful man. All eyes rested with 
delight on the pair, but an unutterable sensation 
filled Wally’s heart. 

“But tell us now, tell us how it all happened.” 

“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you,” he said laughing, and 
flung the bearskin on to the ground, so that all 
might see it. They made a circle round him, and 
the village landlord had a cask of his best ale 
brought out and tapped on the green; for one 
must drink after church, and above all on such an 
extra occasion as this, and the little inn-parlour 
could never have held such an unusual concourse 
of people. The men and women naturally pressed 
close round the speaker, and the newly-confirmed 
children climbed on to benches, and up into trees, 
that they might see over their heads. Wally was 
foremost of all in a fir-tree, where she' could look 


14 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

straight down upon Joseph; but the others wanted 
her place; there was some noise and struggling be- 
cause she would not give way, and “Saint George” 
looked up at them. His sparkling eyes fell upon 
Wally’s face, and remained smilingly fixed on it for 
a moment. All Wally’s blood rushed to her head, 
and she could hear her heart beating in her very 
ears with her intense fright. In all her life before 
she had never been so frightened, and she had not 
an idea why! She heard only the half of what Jo- 
seph was relating, there was such a singing in her 
ears; all the while she was thinking, “Suppose he 
were to look up again?” And she could not have 
told whether she. wished it or dreaded it most. And 
yet, when in the course of his story it did once 
happen again, she turned away quickly and ashamed, 
as though she had been found out in something 
wrong. Was it wrong to have looked at him so? 
It might be, and yet she could not leave off, though 
she trembled so incessantly that she was afraid he 
might notice it. But he noticed nothing; what did 
he care for the child up there in the tree? He had 
looked up once or twice as he might have looked 
at a squirrel — nothing further. She said so to her- 
self, and a strange sorrow stole over her. Never 
before had she felt as she did to-day; she was only 
thankful that she had drunk no wine on the road; 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 5 

she might have thought that it had got into her 
head. 

In her confusion she began playing with her 
rosary. It was a beautiful new one of red coral, 
with a chased cross of pure silver, that her father 
had given her for her confirmation. All of a sud- 
den as she turned and twisted it, the string broke 
and, like drops of blood, the red beads rolled down 
from the tree. “That is a bad sign,” an inner 
voice whispered to her, “old Luchard doesn’t like 
it — that anything should break when one is think- 
ing of something!” Of something! Of what then 
had she been thinking? She turned it over in her 
mind, but she could not discover. Precisely she 
had been thinking of nothing in particular. Why 
then should she be so troubled by the string break- 
ing just at that moment? She felt as though the 
sun had suddenly paled, and a cold wind were 
blowing over her; but not a leaf was stirring, and 
the icebound horizon glittered in the radiant sun- 
light. The shadow of a cloud had passed — within 
her — or without her? How could she tell? 

Joseph meanwhile had finished relating his ad- 
venture, and had shown round the purse containing 
the forty florins paid by the Tyrolese government 
as the reward for shooting a bear, and there was 
no end to the handshakings and congratulations. 


1 6 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

Only Wally’s father held sullenly aloof. It angered 
him that any one should accomplish a great and 
heroic deed; no one in the world had any right to 
be strong but himself and his daughter. During 
thirty years he had been esteemed, without dispute, 
the strongest man in the whole range of mountains, 
and he could not bear now to find himself growing 
old, and obliged to make way for a younger genera- 
tion. When, however, someone said to Joseph that 
it was no wonder he should be such a strong fel- 
low — he had it from his father who had been the 
best shot and the best wrestler in the whole place 
— then the old man could contain himself no longer, 
but broke in with a thundering “Oho! no need to 
bury a man before he’s dead!” 

Everyone fell back at the threatening voice. “It’s 
Stromminger!” they said, half-frightened. 

“Ay, it is Stromminger, who’s alive still, and who 
never knew till this moment that Hagenbach had 
been the best wrestler in the place. With his tongue, 
if you like, but with nothing else!” 

Joseph turned round like a wounded wild cat, 
glaring at Stromminger with flaming eyes. “Who 
says that my father was a boaster?” 

“I say it, the head-peasant of the Sonnenplatte, 
and I know what I’m saying, for I’ve laid him flat 
a dozen times, like a sack.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. I 7 

“It is false,” cried Joseph, “and no man shall 
blacken my father’s name.” 

“Joseph, be quiet,” the people whispered about 
him, “it’s the head-peasant — thou mustn’t make a 
quarrel with him.” 

“ Head-peasant here, head-peasant there! If God 
in Heaven were to come down to blacken my 
father’s name, I wouldn’t put up with it. I know 
very well, my father and Stromminger had many a 
wrestling-bout together, because he was the only 
one who could stand up with Stromminger. And 
he threw Stromminger just as often as Stromminger 
threw him.” 

“It’s not true!” shouted Stromminger, “thy 
father was a weak fool compared to me. If any of 
you old fellows have a spark of honour, you’ll say 
so too — and thou, if thou doesn’t believe it after 
that, I’ll knock it into thee!” At the word “fool” 
Joseph had sprung like a madman, close up to 
Stromminger. “Take thy words back, or — ” 

“Heavens above us!” shrieked the women. “Let 
be, Joseph,” said his mother soothingly, “he’s an 
old man, thou mustn’t lay hands on him.” 

“Oho!” cried Stromminger, purple with rage, 
“you’d make me out an old dotard, would you? 
Stromminger is none so old and weak yet but he 
can fight it out with a half-fledged stripling. Only 

The Vulture-Maiden . 2 


1 8 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

come on, I’ll soon show thee I’ve some marrow 
left in my bones. Fm not afraid of thee yet awhile, 
not if thou’d shot ten bears.” 

And like an enraged bull the strong old man 
threw himself on the young hunter, who in spite of 
himself gave way under the sudden L and heavy 
spring. But he only staggered for a moment; his 
slender form was so firmly knit, was so supple in 
yielding, so elastic in rising again — like the lofty 
pines of his native soil, that grow with roots of iron 
in the naked rock, buffeted by all the winds of 
heaven and bearing up against their mountain-load 
of snow. As easily might Stromminger have up- 
rooted one of these trees, as have flung Joseph to 
the ground. And in fact, after a short struggle, 
Joseph’s arms closely clasped Stromminger, tighten- 
ing round and almost choking him, till a deep 
groan came with his shortening breath, and he 
could not stir a hand. And now the young giant 
began to shake the old man, bending first on one 
side, then on the other, striving steadily, slowly but 
surely to force first one foot and then the other 
from under him, and so loosen his foothold by de- 
grees. The bystanders hardly dared to breathe as 
they watched the strange scene — almost as though 
they dared not look on at the felling of so old a tree. 
Now — now Stromminger has lost his footing — now 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


*9 


he must fall — but no; Joseph held him up, bore 
him in his strong arms to the nearest bench and 
set him down on it. Then he quietly took out his 
handkerchief and dried the beads of sweat from 
Stromminger’s brow. 

“See, Stromminger,” he said, “I’ve got the better 
of thee, and I might have thrown thee; but God 
forbid that I should bring an old man to shame. 
And now we will be good friends again; we bear 
no malice, Stromminger?” 

He held out his hand, smiling goodhumouredly, 
but Stromminger struck it back with an angry scowl. 
“ The devil pay thee out — thou scoundrel,” he cried. 
“And you, all you Soldeners who have amused 
yourselves with seeing Stromminger made a laugh- 
ing-stock for the children — you shall learn by ex- 
perience who Stromminger is. I’ll have nothing 
more to do with you, and grant no more time for 
payments — not if half Solden were to starve for it.” 

He went up to the tree, where Wally still sat as 
in a nightmare, and pulled her by the gown. “Come 
down,” he said, “thou’ll get no dinner there. Not 
a Soldener shall ever see another kreuzer of mine.” 
But Wally, who had rather fallen than got down 
from the tree, stood as if spell-bound with her eyes 
fixed almost beseechingly on Joseph. She thought 
he must see how it pained her to go away; she felt 

2* 


20 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


as though he must take her hand in his, and say, 
“Only stay with me: thou belong’st to me, and I to 
thee, and to no other !” But he stood still in the 
midst of a knot of men who were whispering to- 
gether in dismay, for many in the village owed 
money to Stromminger, whose wealth circulated in 
the very veins of the whole neighbourhood. 

“Well — wilt thou go on?” said Stromminger, 
giving the girl a push, and she had to obey him 
whether for weal or woe; but her lips trembled, her 
breast heaved painfully; she flung a glance of 
powerless anger at her father; he drove her before 
him like a calf. So they went on for a few steps; 
then they heard some one following them, and turn- 
ing round, there stood Joseph with a couple of 
peasants behind him. 

“Stromminger,” he said, “don’t be so head- 
strong. You can never go, you and the girl, all 
that long way to the Sonnenplatte, without eating 
anything.” 

He stood close to Wally; she felt his breath as 
he spoke, his eyes rested on her, his hand lay com- 
passionately on her shoulder; she knew not how it 
happened — he was so good, so dear — and she felt 
as she did when, taking the vulture’s nest, the rush- 
ing sound of its wings suddenly filled her ears, and 
sight and hearing went from her. Even so, some- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


21 


thing overwhelming to her young heart, lay in his 
presence, in his touch. She had not trembled when 
the mighty bird hovered above her, darkening the 
sun with his broad pinions, she had known how to 
defend herself calmly and bravely; but now she 
trembled from head to foot, and stood bewildered 
and confused. 

“Get off!” cried Stromminger, and clenched his 
fist at Joseph, “I’ll hit thee in the face if thou 
doesn’t let me be — I will, if it cost me my life.” 

“Well — if you won’t, you won’t, and so let it be, 
— but you’re a fool, Stromminger,” said Joseph 
calmly, and he turned round and went back with 
the others. 

Now no one tried to detain them; they walked 
on unmolested, farther — at each step farther away 
from Joseph. Wally looked round, and still for a 
time she could see his head towering above the 
others, she could still hear the confused sound of 
voices and of laughter on the green before the 
church. She could not yet believe that she was 
really gone, that she should not see Joseph again — 
perhaps never again. Now they turned a corner 
of the rock and all was hidden, the village green 
with all the people and Joseph — and every thing, 
every thing was gone. Then suddenly there came 


2 2 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


upon her, as it were, a revelation of a great joy of 
which she had had 'one glimpse, and which was 
lost to her for ever now. She looked around as 
though imploring help in her soul’s need, in this 
new, this unknown anguish. And there was none 
to answer her and to say, “Be patient, presently 
all will be well!” Dead and motionless were the 
rocks and cliffs all around, dead and motionless 
the Ferner looked down upon her. What did they 
care, they who had seen worlds come and worlds 
pass away, for this poor little trembling woman’s 
heart? Her father walked on at her side, silent as 
though he were a moving rock. And he it was 
that was guilty of all. He was a wicked, hard, 
cruel man; there was not a creature in the world 
that took any interest in her. And while she 
thought all this, struggling with herself, she walked 
on mechanically farther and farther in advance of 
her father, up hill and down hill, as though she 
wished to walk off her heart’s pain. The scorch- 
ing sun glared on the blank wall of rock, she strove 
for breath, her tongue clove to the roof of her 
mouth, all her veins throbbed; suddenly her strength 
gave way, she threw herself on the ground and 
broke into loud sobs. 

“Oho! what’s all this about?” exclaimed Strom- 
minger in the greatest astonishment, for never since 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


23 


her earliest infancy had he seen his daughter weep. 
“Art out of thy wits?” 

Wally made no reply; she gave herself up to the 
wild outbreak of her soul’s suffering. 

“Speak, will thee? open thy mouth or — ” 

Then from her throbbing, raging heart, like a 
mountain torrent from the cleft rock, she poured 
forth the whole truth, overwhelming the old man 
with the rush and ferment of her passion. She 
told him everything, for truthful she had always 
been and unaccustomed to lying. She told him that 
Joseph had pleased her, that she felt such a love 
for him as no one in the world had ever felt be- 
fore, that she had been rejoicing so in the thought 
of talking to him, and that if Joseph had only 
heard how strong she was and how she had al- 
ready done all sorts of strong things, he would cer- 
tainly have danced with her and he would cer- 
tainly have fallen in love with her too; and now 
her father had deprived her of it all, because he 
must needs fall upon Joseph like a madman; and 
now she was a laughing-stock and a disgrace, so 
that Joseph to the last day of his life would never 
look at her again. But that was always the way with 
her father, he was always hard and mad with every- 
one, so that everywhere he was called the wicked 
Stromminger — and now she must atone for it all. 


24 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Then suddenly Stromminger spoke. “I’ve had 
enough of this,” he cried. There was a whistling 
through the air, and such a blow from her father’s 
stick crashed down upon Wally that she thought 
her spine was broken; she turned pale and bowed 
her head. It was as hail falling on the scarce 
opened blossom of her soul. For a moment she 
was in such pain that she could not stir; bitter 
tears forced themselves through her closed eyes, like 
sap from a broken stem; otherwise she lay still as 
death. Stromminger waited by her muttering curses, 
as a drover stands by a heifer that, felled by a blow, 
can do no more. 

Around them all was still and lonely, no voice 
of bird, no rustling of trees broke the silence. On 
the narrow rocky path where father and daughter 
stood, no tree ever bore a leaf, no bird ever built 
its nest. A thousand years ago the elements must 
have warred here in fearful conflict, and far as the 
eye could reach nothing could be seen but the 
giant wrecks of the wild tumult. But now the fires 
were burnt out that had rent the ground, and the 
waters subsided that had swept away the strong 
ones of the earth in their raging flood. There they 
lay hurled one upon another, the motionless giants; 
the mighty powers that had moved them lay slum- 
bering now, and peace as of the grave lay over all 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


25 


as over monuments of the dead, and pure and still 
as heavenward aspirations the white glaciers rose 
high above them. Only man, ever-restless man, 
carried on even here his never ending strife, and 
with his suffering destroyed the sublime peace of 
nature. 

At last Wally opened her eyes and gathered her 
strength to go on; no further lamentation passed 
her lips, she looked at her father strangely, as 
though she had never seen him before; her tears 
were dried up. 

“Thou may guess now what’ll come of it, if 
thou thinks any more of yon scoundrel that made 
thy father a jest for children,” said he, holding her 
by the arm, “for thou may know this, that I’d 
sooner fling thee down from the Sonnenplatte than 
let Joseph have thee.” 

“It is well,” said Wally, with an expression that 
startled even Stromminger; such unflinching defiance 
lay in the simple words, in the tone in which they 
were spoken, in the glance of irreconcilable enmity 
which she threw at her father. 

“Thou’s a wicked — wicked thing,” muttered he 
between his teeth. 

“I have not stolen anything,” she answered in 
the same tone. 

“Only wait awhile — I’ll pay thee out,” he snarled. 


2 6 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Yes, yes,” she answered, nodding her head, as 
if to say, “only try it!” Then they said no more to 
each other the whole way back. 

When they had reached home, and Wally had 
gone into her room to take off her holiday finery, 
old Luckard who had lived with her mother and 
her grandmother, and who had brought Wally up 
from her cradle, put her head in at the door. 
“Wally, hast been weeping?” she whispered. 

“Why?” asked the girl with unwonted sharpness. 

“There were tears on the cards — I laid out the 
pack of cards for thy confirmation ; thou fell between 
two knaves and I was frightened at it; it was all as 
near as if it had happened to-day and close by.” 

“Like enough,” said the girl indifferently, and 
laid away her mother’s beautiful gown in the big 
wooden chest. 

“Does anything ail thee, child?” asked the old 
woman. “Thou looks so ill and thou’st come home 
so early. Didn’t thou dance?” 

“Dance!” The girl laughed, a hard shrill laugh, 
as though one should strike a lute with a hammer 
till the strings ring back all jarred and jangled out 
of tune. “What have I to do with dancing.” 

“Something’s happened to thee, child — tell me 
— perhaps I can help thee.” 

“None can help me,” said Wally, and shut down 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


27 


the lid of the chest as if she would bury in it all 
that was oppressing her. It was as though she were 
closing down the coffin-lid over all her youthful 
hopes. 

“Go now,” she said imperiously, as she had 
never spoken before, “I shall rest awhile.” 

“Jesus, Maria!” shrieked Luckard, “there lies thy 
rosary all broken. Where are the beads?” 

“Lost.” 

“Oh! Lord! Lord! what ill luck! only the cross 
is left and the empty string. To break thy rosary 
on thy confirmation day! and tears on the cards 
besides! Our Father in Heaven! what will come 
of it?” 

Thus lamenting, half pushed out by Wally, the 
old woman left the room, and Wally bolted the 
door after her. She threw herself on the bed and 
lay motionless, staring at the picture of the Holy 
Mother and at the crucifix which hung on the wall 
opposite. Should she pour out her sorrows to 
these? No! The Mother of God could bear her no 
good-will, otherwise she would not have let just her 
confirmation day above all others be so spoilt for 
her. Besides, she could not know what love-sor- 
rows were, for she had known suffering only through 
her Son, and that was something quite different 
from what Wally felt. And the Lord Jesus Christ! 


28 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


— He certainly did not trouble himself about love- 
stories; no one might dare to approach Him with 
such matters as these. All that He desired was 
that one should be always striving after the king- 
dom of Heaven. Ah! And all her young, wildly- 
beating heart was longing and yearning with every 
throb for the beloved, the best-beloved one down 
here on earth; the kingdom of Heaven was so far 
away and so strange, how could she strive after it 
in this moment when, for the first time, all powerful 
nature was imperiously claiming in her its right? 
With bitter defiance she gazed at the images of the 
Mother and Son, whose pity was for quite other 
griefs than hers, who demanded of her only what 
was impossible. She vouchsafed to them no fur- 
ther word, she was angry with them as a child is 
angry with its parents when they unjustly deny it 
some pleasure. Long she lay thus, her eyes fixed 
reproachfully on the holy images; but soon she saw 
before her only the dear and beautiful face of Jo- 
seph, and involuntarily she grasped her shoulder 
with her hand where his hand had lain, as though 
to keep firm hold of his momentary touch. And 
then she saw his mother again of whom she had 
been so jealous, and she lay once more in Joseph’s 
arms, and he caressed her so fondly; and then 
Wally pushed the mother away and lay herself in- 


THE CULTURE-MAIDEN. 

stead on Joseph's heart; and he held her clasped 
there, and she looked down into the depths of his 
black flaming eyes, and she tried to imagine what 
he would say, but she could think of nothing but, 
“Thou dear little one,” as he had said, “Thou 
dear little mother ” And what could be sweeter or 
dearer than that? Ah! what could the kingdom 
of Heaven, in which those Two up yonder wanted 
to have her, what could it be in comparison with 
the blessedness that she felt in only thinking of Jo- 
seph — and how much greater must the reality be! 

There was a tap at her window, and she started 
up as if from a dream. It was the young vulture 
which she had taken two years before from the 
nest, and which was as faithfully attached to her 
as a dog. She could leave him quite free, he 
never hurt anyone, and flew after her with his 
clipped wings as best he could. She opened the 
little window, he slipped in and looked trustingly 
at her with his yellow eyes. She scratched his 
neck gently and played with his strong wings, now 
spreading them out, now folding them together 
again. A cool air blew in through the open 
window. The sun had already sunk low behind 
the mountains, the narrow casement framed the 
peaceful picture of the mountain tops veiled in blue 
mist. In herself too all grew more peaceful; the 


30 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


evening air revived her spirit. She took the bird 
on her shoulder. “Come, Hans,” she said, “we are 
doing nothing, as though there were no work in the 
world.” The faithful bird had brought her wonder- 
ful comfort. She had taken it for her own from 
the steep cliff where no one else would venture; she 
had fought its mother for life or death, she had 
tamed it and it belonged wholly to her. “And he 
will also one day be mine,” said an inward voice, 
as she clasped the bird to her bosom. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


3 * 


CHAPTER II. 

Unbending. 

This was the short story of love and sorrow, 
whose pain even now awoke again in the young 
heart as she looked down into the valley, thinking 
to see Joseph who so often passed along it, and 
never found the way up to her. She wiped her 
forehead, for the sun was beginning to burn, and 
she had already mowed the whole meadow-land 
from the house up to the “Sonnenplatte;” so the 
point on which she stood was called, because rising 
high above all around, it ever caught the earliest 
rays of the morning sun. From it the village took 
its name. 

“ Wally, Wally,” some one now called from be- 
hind her, “come to thy father, he’s something to 
say to thee,” and old Luckard came towards her 
from the house. Her father had sent for her? What 
could he want? Never since their adventure in Sol- 
den had he spoken with her excepting of what con- 
cerned the day’s work. Wavering between fear and 
reluctance she rose and followed the old woman. 

“What does he want?” she asked. 


32 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“Great news,” said Luckard, “look there!” 

Wally looked, and saw her father standing be- 
fore the house, and with him a young peasant of 
the place named Vincenz, with a big nosegay in his 
button hole. He was a dark, robust fellow whom 
Wally had known from her childhood as a reserved 
and stubborn man. He had never bestowed a kindly 
word on anyone but Wally, to whom from her 
school-days upwards he had shown a special good- 
will. A few months previously both his parents had 
died within a short time of each other; now he was 
independent, and next to Stromminger the richest 
peasant in the country side. The blood stood still 
in Wally’s veins, for she already knew what was 
coming. 

“Vincenz wants to marry thee,” said her father; 
“I’ve said ‘yes,’ and next month we’ll have the 
wedding.” Having thus spoken he turned on his 
heel and went into the house as if there were no- 
thing more to be said. 

Wally stood silent for a moment as though 
thunderstruck; she must collect herself, she must 
consider what was to be done. Vincenz meanwhile 
confidently stepped up to her with the intention of 
putting his arm round her waist. But she sprang 
back with a cry of terror, and now she knew well 
enough what it was she had to do. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


33 


“Vincenz,” she said, trembling with misery, “I 
beg of thee to go home. I can never be thy wife — 
never. Thou wouldn’t have my father force me to 
it. I tell thee once for all I cannot love thee.” 

A look brief as lightning flashed across Vincenz’s 
face; he bit his lips, and his black eyes were fixed 
with passionate eagerness on Wally. “So thou 
doesn’t love me? But I love thee, and I’ll lay my 
life on it that I’ll have thee too. I’ve got thy 
father’s consent and I’ll never give it back, and I’ve 
a notion thou’ll come to change thy mind yet if thy 
father wills it.” 

“Vincenz,” said Wally, “if thou’d been wise 
thou’d not have spoken like that, for thou’d have 
known I’ll never have thee now. What I will not 
do, none can force me to do — that thou may know 
once for all. And now go home, Vincenz; we’ve 
nothing more to say to each other,” and she turned 
short away from him and went into the house. 

“Oh, thou!” Vincenz called out after her in 
angry pain, clenching his fist. Then he checked 
himself. “Well,” he murmured between his teeth, 
“I can wait — and I will wait.” 

Wally went straight to her father. He was sit- 
ting all bent together over his accounts and turned 
round slowly as she entered. “What is it?” he said. 

The sun shone through the low window and 

The Vulture- Maiden. 3 


34 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


threw its full beams on Wally, so that she stood as 
though wrapped in glory before her father. Even 
he was amazed at the beauty of his child as she 
stood before him at that moment. 

“Father,” she began quietly, “I only wanted to 
tell you that I will not marry Vincenz.” 

“Indeed!” cried Stromminger, starting up. “Is 
that it? Thou won’t marry him?” 

“No, father, I don’t like him.” 

“Indeed! and did I ask thee if thou liked him?” 

“No, I tell it you plainly, unasked.” 

“And I tell thee too unasked that in four weeks 
thou’ll marry Vincenz whether thou likes him or 
not. I’ve given him my word, and Stromminger 
never takes his word back. Now get thee gone.” 

“No, father,” said the girl, “things can’t be 
settled in that way. I’m no head of cattle to let 
myself be sold or promised as the master pleases. 
It seems to me I also have a word to say when it 
has to do with my marriage.” 

“No, that thou hasn’t, for a child belongs to her 
father as much as a calf or a heifer, and must do 
what its father orders.” 

“Who says that, father?” 

“Who says so? It’s said in the Bible,” and an 
ominous flush rose on Stromminger’s face. 

“It says in the Bible that we are to honour and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


35 


love our parents, but not that we are to marry a 
man \yhen it goes against us merely because our 
father orders it. See, father, if it could do you any 
good for me to marry Vincenz, if it could save you 
from death or from misery — I’d do it willingly, and 
even if I were to break my heart over it. But you’re 
a rich man that need ask nothing of anyone; it 
must be all one to you whom I marry; and you 
give me to Vincenz out of pure spite, that I may 
not marry Joseph, whom I love, and who would 
certainly have loved me if he could have got to 
know me; and it’s cruel of you, father, and it says 
nowhere in the Bible that a child should put up 
with that.” 

“Thou — thou pert thing, I’ll send thee to the 
priest; he’ll teach thee what the Bible says.” 

“It will be no good, father; and if you sent me 
to ten priests, and if they all ten told me that I 
must obey you in this, I yet wouldn’t do it.” 

“And I tell thee thou shall do it so sure as my 
name is Stromminger. Thou shall do it, or I’ll drive 
thee out of house and home and disinherit thee.” 

“That you can do, father, I’m strong enough to 
earn my own bread. Yes, father, give everything to 
Vincenz — only not me.” 

“Foolish nonsense,” said Stromminger perplexed. 
“Shall people say of me that Stromminger cannot 

3 * 


3 ^ 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


even master his own child? Thou shall marry Vin- 
cenz; if I have to thrash thee into church, thou 
shall.” 

“And even if you thrashed me into church I’d 
still say no, at the altar. You may strike me dead, 
but you cannot thrash that ‘Yes’ out of me; and 
even if you could, sooner would I fling myself 
down from the cliff, than I’d go home with a man 
I’ve no love for.” 

“Now listen,” cried Stromminger; his broad 
forehead was cleft as it were, with a swelling blue 
vein that ran across it, his whole face was suffused, 
his eyes bloodshot. “Now listen, thou’d better not 
drive me mad. Thou’s already had enough of my 
cudgel; now give in, or between us things will come 
to a bad end!” 

“Things came to a bad end between us a year 
ago, father. For when you beat me so that time 
on my confirmation day, then I felt all was at an 
end between us. And see, father, since then it’s 
been all one to me whether you are bad to me or 
good, whether you treat me well or strike me dead 
— it’s all one to me. I have no heart left for you. 
You’re no dearer to me than the Similaun-, or Ver- 
nagt-, or Murzoll-glacier.” 

A stifled cry of rage broke from Stromminger. 
Half-stupified he had listened to the girl’s words, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


37 


but now, incapable of speech, he sprang upon her, 
seized her by the waist, swung her from the ground 
high over his head, and shook her till his own 
breath failed; then flinging her to the ground he 
set his heavy heel studded with nails upon her 
breast. “Unsay what thou has said,” he gasped, 
“or I’ll crush thee like a worm.” 

“Do it,” said the girl, her eyes fixed steadily on 
her father. She breathed hard, for her father’s foot 
weighed on her like lead, but she did not stir; not 
so much as an eyelash trembled. 

Stromminger’s power was broken. He had 
threatened what he could not perform, for at the 
thought of crushing the fair and innocent breast of 
his child his anger faded, he grew suddenly calm. 
He was conquered. Almost staggering he drew 
back his foot. 

“Nay, I’ll not end my days in a prison,” he said 
gloomily, and sank exhausted into his chair. 

Wally got up, she was pale as death, her eyes 
were tearless, lustreless, like a stone. She waited 
passively for what might come next. Stromminger 
sat for a minute in bitter reflection, then he spoke 
in hoarse tones. 

“I cannot kill thee, but since Similaun and 
Murzoll are dear to thee as thy father, by Similaun 
and Murzoll thou may remain for the future, thou 


38 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


may belong to them. Thou shall never more stretch 
thy feet under my board. Thou shall go and mind 
the cattle up on the Hochjoch, till thou’s found out 
it’s better to be in Vincenz’s warm home, than in 
the snow drift of the glacier. Tie up thy bundle, 
for I’ll see no more of thee. Go up early to- 
morrow. I’ll let the Schnalser people know, and 
send the cattle after thee next week by the boy. 
Take bread and cheese enough to last till the beasts 
come; Klettenmaier will guide thee up there. Now 
take thyself off. These are my last words and by 
these I’ll stand.” 

“It is well, father,” said Wally softly; she bowed 
her head, and quitted her father’s room. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


39 


CHAPTER III. 

Outcast. 

“Up on the Hochjoch!” It was a fearful sen- 
tence. For in the inhospitable regions of the Hoch- 
joch there is none of the joyous life of the lower 
pastures, where the sweet aromatic air resounds 
with the tinkle of bells, with the calls of the herds- 
men and mountain girls — here are eternal winter, 
/and the stillness of death. Sadly and gently as a 
mother kisses the pale forehead of her dead child, 
so the sun kisses these cold glaciers. Scanty 
meadows, the last clinging vestiges of organic life 
penetrate, as though lost, the wintry desert, till the 
last shoot perishes, the last drop of rising sap is 
frozen; it ii the slow extinction of nature. But the 
frugal peasant utilises even these niggard remains; 
he sends his flocks up to graze on what they may 
find there, and the straying sheep tempted to reach 
after a plant which has wandered hither from a 
milder region , not unfrequently falls into some 
crevice in the ice. 

Here it was that the child of the proud chief 
peasant, whose possessions extended for miles in 


4 ° 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


every direction and reached up even to the clouds, 
must spend her bloom in everlasting winter. While 
on the lower earth May-breezes were blowing, the 
rising sap opening every bud, the birds building 
their nests, and all things stirring in joyous unison, 
she must take the herdsman’s staff and quit the 
spring-meadows for the desert of the glaciers 
above; and only when autumn winds should be 
sighing and winter preparing to descend into the 
valley, might she also return thither, as though she 
had been sold to winter, life and limb. 

No one of the peasants of the neighbourhood 
would send his shepherds up there, but they let out 
the meadows to the Schnalser people who lay nearer 
to the ridge on the farther side, and they sent a 
few half-wild, weather-beaten fellows, who clothed 
themselves in skins and lived miles asunder in stone 
cabins like hermits; and now Stromminger, who 
hitherto had always leased his pastures, condemned 
his own child to lead the life of a Schnalser herds- 
man. But from Wally’s lips came no complaint; 
she prepared herself in silence for her mountain 
journey. Early in the morning, long before sun- 
rise, whilst her father, the men, and the maids were 
still sleeping, Wally set out from her father’s house 
for the mountain. Only old Luckard, “who had 
known it all beforehand from the cards” and who 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


41 


had passed the night with Wally helping her make 
up her bundle, stuck a sprig of rue in her hat as a 
farewell-token, and went part of the way with her. 
The old woman wept as if escorting the dead to 
the grave. Klettenmaier came behind with the 
pack. He was a faithful old servant, the only one 
that had grown grey in Stromminger’s service, be- 
cause he was deaf and did not hear when his 
master stormed and swore. This was the guide her 
father had selected for Wally. Luckard went with 
her till the road began a steep ascent. Then she 
took leave of them and turned back, for she had to 
be home in time to prepare the first meal. 

Wally climbed the hill and looked down upon 
the road along which the old woman went crying 
in her apron, and even her heart almost failed her. 
Luckard had always been good to her; though she 
was old and feeble, at least she had loved Wally. 
Presently the old woman turned once more and 
pointed above her head. Wally’s eyes followed the 
direction of her finger, and behold! something floated 
towards the mountain heights clumsily, uncertainly 
through the air, like a paper kite when the wind 
fails, now flying on a little way, then falling, and 
with difficulty rising again. The vulture with his 
clipped wings had painfully fluttered the whole 
way after her; but now his strength seemed to give 


42 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


way and he could only scramble along, flapping his 
pinions. 

“Hansl! — oh, my Hansl! — how could I forget 
thee!” cried Wally, springing like a chamois from 
rock to rock the shortest way back to fetch the 
faithful bird. Luckard stood still till Wally once 
more reached the narrow path, then greeted her 
again as if after a long separation. At last Hansl 
too was reached, and Wally took him in her arms 
and pressed him to her heart like a child. Since 
last evening the bird was so identified in all her 
thoughts with Joseph, that it seemed almost as if it 
were a dumb medium between him and her; or as 
though Joseph had changed into the vulture, and in 
holding Hansl she clasped him in her arms. 

As an ardent faith creates its own visible sym- 
bols to bring near to itself the unattainable and 
the remote and to seize the intangible, and as to faith 
a wooden cross and a painted image become mi- 
raculous — so ardent love creates its own symbols, 
to which it clings when the beloved one is far off, 
unattainable. Even so Wally derived now a wonder- 
ful consolation from her bird. “Come, Hansl,” she 
said tenderly, “thou shall go with me up to the 
Ferner; we two will never be parted more.” 

“But, child,” said old Luckard, “thou never can 
take the vulture up there, he’d die of hunger. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


43 


Thou’s no meat for him up there, and creatures 
like him eat nothing else.” 

“That is true,” said Wally sadly, “but I can’t 
part from the bird; I must have something with me 
up there in the wilderness. And I can’t leave him 
alone at home either; who’d look after him and take 
care of him when I’m away?” 

“Oh! for that thou may be easy,” - cried Luckard, 
“I’ll look after him well enough.” 

“Ay, but he’ll not follow thee,” said Wally; 
“thou’rt not used to his ways.” 

“Nay, let me have him,” said Luckard. “All 
this long time I’ve taken care of thee, surely I can 
take care of the bird. Give him me here, I’ll carry 
him home,” and she pulled the vulture out of 
Wally’s arms. But it would not do; the noble bird 
set himself on the defensive, and pecked so angrily 
at Luckard that she was frightened, and let go. It 
was of no use for her to think of taking him home 
with her. 

“Thou sees,” cried Wally joyfully, “he’ll not 
leave me; I must keep him, come what will. I was 
once called the Vulture-maiden and the Vulture- 
maiden I must still remain. O, my Hansl, as long 
as we two are together, we shall want for nothing. 
I’ll tell thee what, Luckard, I’ll let his wings grow 


44 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


now, he’ll not fly away from me, and then he can 
find food for himself up yonder.” 

“God bless thee, then, take him with thee. I’ll 
send thee up some fresh and salt meat by the boy, 
thou can give him that till he can fly abroad.” And 
so it was settled. Wally took the vulture under 
her arm like a hen, and parted from Luckard who 
began to cry afresh. But Wally, without further 
delay, went up the mountain again after the guide, 
who had meanwhile gone on ahead. 

In two hours they reached Vent, the last village 
before entering the realms of ice. Wally mounted 
the hill above Vent; here began the path to the 
Hochjoch. Once more she paused, and leaning on 
her Alpenstock looked down on the quiet, still half- 
dreaming village, and over the lake beyond, and the 
last houses of the Oetz valley, to the farms of 
Rofen which, lying almost at the foot of the ever- 
advancing, ever-receding Hochvernagtferners, seemed 
defiantly to say to it, “Crush us!” — even as Wally 
yesterday had defied her father. And like her 
father the Hochvernagt each time withdrew its 
mighty foot, as though it could not bear to destroy 
the home of its brave mountain children, “the Klotze 
of Rofen.” 

While she thus stood, looking down on the ut- 
most dwellings of man before mounting to the 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


45 


desert beyond the clouds, there rose from the church- 
tower of Vent the sound of the bell for matins. 
Out of the door of the little parsonage, where the 
buds of the mountain-pink tapped the window in 
the morning breeze, came the priest and went with 
folded hands to his pious duty in the church. Here 
and there the wooden houses opened their sleepy 
eyes, and one figure after another coming out, 
stretched itself and took its way slowly to the 
church. Carefully and losing no tone by the way, 
the wind-winged angels bore the pious sound up 
the slope, and it rang in Wally’s ear like the voice 
of a child that prays. And as a child arouses its 
mother by its sweet lisping, so the peal from Vent 
seemed to have aroused the sun. He opened his 
mighty eye, and the rays of his first glance shot 
over the mountains, an immeasurable shaft of flame 
that crowned the eastern heights. The dim grey of 
the twilight sky suddenly lighted up to a transparent 
blue, each moment the beam grew broader in the 
heavens, and at length mounted in full splendour 
over the cloud-veiled peaks, and turned his flaming 
countenance lovingly to earth. The mountains 
threw off their misty shrouds, and bathed their 
naked forms in streams of light. Deep down in the 
ravines the clouds heaved and rolled, as though 
they had sunk down thither from the pure heaven 


4 6 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


above. In the air was a rushing as of wild hymns 
of joy, and the earth wept tears of blissful waking, 
like a bride on her wedding morning; and like the 
tears on the eyelashes of the bride, the dewdrops 
quivered joyfully on each blade and spray. Joy 
lay everywhere, — above on the mountain tops where 
the dazzling rays were mirrored in the farseeing 
eyes of the chamois, — below in the valley where the 
lark soared, warbling, from amongst the spring- 
ing corn. 

Wally gazed intoxicated on the awakening world, 
with eyes that could hardly take in the whole shin- 
ing picture in its pure morning beauty. The vul- 
ture on her shoulder lifted its wings as though 
longingly to greet the sun. Below in Vent, mean- 
while, all was awakening to new life. From where 
Wally stood she could see everything distinctly in 
the clear morning light. The lads kissed the maidens 
by the well. White smoke curled upwards from the 
houses, vanishing without a trace in the serene 
spring air, as a sorrowful thought loses itself in a 
happy soul. On the green in front of the church 
the men assembled in white Sunday shirt-sleeves, 
their silver-mounted pipes in their mouths. It was 
Whit-Monday, when all make holiday and rejoice. 
Oh! holy Whitsuntide! just such a day must it have 
been when the Spirit of the Lord fell on the dis- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


47 


ciples and enlightened them with divine illumina- 
tion, that they might go forth into all the world and 
preach the Gospel of Love, preach it to open hearts, 
touched by the happy spring — for, in the spring- 
tide of the year appeared also the spring-tide of 
man — the religion of love. For her only who stood 
up there on the mountain was there no Whitsun- 
tide, no revelation of love. In her no persuasive 
voice had quickened the gospel into life. A mean- 
ingless letter it had remained to her, a buried seed 
which needed the vivifying ray to make it spring 
up in her heart. No dew of peace fell on her from 
the deep blue heavens; the bird of prey on her 
shoulder was to her the only messenger of love. 

At last Wally broke away from her dreamy 
contemplation. She gave one farewell glance to 
the merry, noisy villagers, then she turned to climb 
the silent snow fields of the Hochjoch — in banish- 
ment. 


4 § 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Murzoll’s Child. 

For five hours did Wally continue to ascend; 
now over whole fields of fragrant Alpine plants, 
now sinking ankle-deep in snow-fields, or crossing 
broad moraines. Last night’s sleeplessness lay 
heavily upon her limbs, and she almost despaired 
of ever reaching the end of her journey. Her hands 
and feet trembled, for to struggle for life during 
five hours against so steep an ascent is hard work. 
Large drops stood on Wally’s brow, when suddenly 
as by a magic stroke she stood before a dense wall 
of cloud. She had turned an angle of the rock 
which hid the sun, and now thick mists enveloped 
her and an icy breath dried the sweat from her 
forehead. Her foot slipped at every step, for the 
ground was like glass; she stood upon ice, she had 
stepped upon the Murzoll glacier, the highest ridge 
of the serrated Hochjoch. Nothing grew here but 
starveling mountain-grass between clefts in the 
snow; around were the blue gleaming ice-crevasses, 
the virgin snow-flats, untrodden this year by foot of 
man or beast. Mid-winter! Wally shuddered at its 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


49 


icy touch. This was the forecourt to MurzolPs ice- 
palace, of which so many tales are told in the Oetz 
valley, where the “phantom maidens” dwell, of whom 
old Luckard had related many a story to the little 
Wally in the long winter evenings when the snow- 
storms howled round the house. The air that blew 
on her now from those desolate walls of ice, those 
caves and dungeons, came to her with a ghostly 
thrill like a shudder out of her childhood, as 
though in very truth there dwelt the dark spirit 
of the glacier, with whom Luckard had so often 
frightened her to bed when she had been naughty. 

Silently she walked on. At last her deaf guide 
halted by a low cabin built of stone, with a wide 
overhanging roof, a strong door of rough wood, 
and little slits instead of windows. Within were a 
couple of blackened stones for a hearth, and a bed 
of old rotten straw. This was the hut of the 
Schnalser herdsman, who had formerly found shelter 
here, and here Wally was now to dwell. She did 
not change countenance however at the sight of the 
comfortless hut; it was neither more nor less than 
a bad mountain cabin, there were many such, and 
she was used to hard living. It was not such 
things as these that could quench her resolute 
spirit; but she was exhausted to faintness; since 
yesterday she had gone through more than even 

The Vulture-Maiden. 4 


50 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


her unusual strength could bear. Mechanically she 
helped the deaf man, whom Luckard had loaded 
with a number of good things for Wally, to ar- 
range a better bed, and to make the desolate hut 
somewhat more habitable. Mechanically she eat 
with him some of the food Luckard had sent. The 
man saw that she was pale, and said compassionately, 
“There, now thou’s eaten something, lie down a 
while and sleep. Thou needs it. I’ll fetch thee up 
some wood meanwhile to last thee a few days, then 
I must go back, or I shall never be home by day- 
light, and thy father strictly ordered me to get back 
to-day.” He shook up a good bed of straw that 
he had brought with him; she sank down on it 
with half closed eyes and held out her hand grate- 
fully. 

“I’ll not wake thee,” he said. “In case thou’rt 
still asleep when I go, I’ll say goodbye to thee now. 
Take care of thyself and don’t be frightened. I’m 
sorry for thee all alone up here; but, why didn’t 
thou obey thy father?” 

Wally heard the last words as in a dream. The 
deaf man left the cabin, shaking his head compas- 
sionately; the girl was already sound asleep. 

Her breast heaved painfully, for even in her 
sleep her past sorrow weighed on her like a moun- 
tain. And she dreamed of her father; he was 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 5 I 

dragging her into church by her hair, and she 
thought that if only she had a knife so that she 
might cut off her hair she would be free. Then 
suddenly Joseph stood by her, and with one stroke 
he cut through the long plait, so that it remained 
in her father’s hand; and while Joseph was strug- 
gling with her father she ran out and climbed to 
the height of the Sonnenplatte to throw herself into 
the torrent. But a terror came over her, and she 
hesitated; then again she heard her father close 
behind her, and urged by despair she made the 
leap. She fell and fell, but could never reach the 
bottom, and suddenly she felt as if she were met 
from below by a gust of wind that supported 
and carried her upwards. So she floated, strug- 
gling always to keep the balance she continually 
feared to lose, up to the very summit of Mur- 
zoll. But she could gain no footing on the rock; 
a terrible whirlwind had seized her, and she strove 
in vain to cling to the bare precipice, like a ship 
that cannot reach the land. Black storm-clouds 
gathered together around her, through which Mur- 
zoll’s snowy summit rose in ghostly whiteness. 
Fiery snakes shot through the black mass, the 
mountains quaked beneath a crashing thunder-clap, 
and flung whirling backwards and forwards between 
these mighty powers, a terror came over her that 

4 * 


52 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


the tempest might cast her head downwards into 
the abyss. She bowed and turned, like a little ship 
on the swaying waves of the wind, striving only to 
keep her head uppermost. But suddenly her feet 
were raised and she felt that the weight of her head 
must carry her down, through the storm and thun- 
der and the black darkness of the clouds; she would 
have cried for help, but could utter no sound — 
terror choked her voice. Then all at once she felt 
herself supported, she was on firm ground, she lay 
in a mountain cleft, as it seemed ; but no, it was no 
cleft, they were giant arms of stone that embraced 
her, and behold, out of the brightening clouds a 
mighty face of stone bent over her: it was the 
hoary countenance of Murzoll. His hair was of 
snow-covered fir trees, his eyes were ice, his beard 
was of moss and his eyebrows of edelweiss; on hi$ 
brow was set as a diadem the crescent moon which 
shed its mild radiance over the white face; and the 
icy eyes shone with a ghostly light in its bluish 
rays. He gazed at the maiden with these cold eyes, 
piercing but unfathomable, and beneath their glance 
the drops of agony on her brow and the tears on 
her cheeks froze and fell down with a faint ringing 
sound like crystal beads. He pressed his stony lips 
to hers, and under the long kiss his mouth grew 
warm and dewy and blossomed with Alpine roses, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


53 


and when Wally looked up at him again glacier 
streams flowed from the icy eyes down upon his 
mossy beard. The black clouds had cleared away 
and the breath of spring stirred the night. 

Now Murzoll moved his lips, and his voice 
sounded like the dull roll of a distant avalanche. 
“Thy father has banished thee,” he said, “I will 
receive thee as my child, for a heart of cold stone 
may more easily be moved than the hardened heart 
of man. Thou pleasest me, thou art one of mine; 
there is strength in thy nature as the rocks are 
strong. Wilt thou be my child?” 

“I will,” said Wally, and clung to the stony 
heart of her new father. 

“Then stay with me and go no more among 
men; among them there is strife, with me there is 
peace.” 

“But Joseph, whom I love,” said Wally, “shall I 
never have him?” 

“Let him be,” replied the mountain, “thou 
mayest not love him; he is a chamois hunter, and 
to such as he my daughters have sworn destruction. 
Come, I will take thee to them, that they may 
deaden thy heart, else thou canst not live in our 
eternal peace.” And he carried her through wide 
halls and endless galleries of ice till they came to 
a vast hall that was transparent as though of crystal; 


54 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


the rays of the sun shone through and broke into 
millions of coloured sparks, and through the walls 
heaven and earth gleamed in varied and mingled 
splendour. There white maiden-forms, glistening 
like snow, with waving veils of mist, were playing 
with a herd of chamois, and it was charming to 
see them sporting with the swift-footed animals, 
catching them and chasing them here and there. 
These were Murzoll’s daughters, the “phantom 
maidens” of the Oetz valley. They crowded in- 
quisitively round Wally as Murzoll set her down on 
the slippery glass of the floor. They were as beau- 
tiful as angels, and had faces like milk and blood; 
but as Wally observed them more closely, a slight 
shudder ran through her, for she saw that they had 
all eyes of ice, like their father, and that the rosy 
hue of their cheeks and lips was not that of blood, 
but the sap of the Alpine rose, and they were as 
cold as frozen snow. 

“Will you receive this maiden?” asked Murzoll. 
“I like her, she is strong and firm as the rock, she 
shall be your sister.” 

“She is fair,” said the maidens; “she has eyes 
like the chamois. But she has warm blood, and she 
loves a hunter — we know!” 

“Lay your hands on her heart that she may be 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


55 


frozen with all her love, and live in bliss with you,” 
said Murzoll. 

The damsels hastened to her — it was like the 
breath of a snow storm — and laid their cold white 
hands on her heart; already she felt it shrink and 
throb more slowly. But she kept off the maidens 
with both arms and cried, “No, no, leave me. I 
want none of your bliss, I want only Joseph.” 

“If thou goest back amongst men we will dash 
Joseph to pieces, and throw thee and him into the 
abyss,” threatened the phantom maidens; “for no 
one may live among men who has seen us.” 

“Throw me into the abyss, but leave me my 
heart to love. All, anything I will bear, but I will 
not part from my love,” and with the strength of 
despair Wally seized one of the damsels round the 
waist and wrestled with her; and behold! the tender 
form was shattered in her arms, and she held in 
her hand only dripping snow. The daylight was 
extinguished; suddenly all was veiled in grey twi- 
light. She stood on the bare rock; a sharp wind 
drove needles of ice in her face, and instead of the 
“phantom maidens” white mists whirled round her 
in a wild dance. High above, Murzolbs pale 
countenance looked darkly down upon her through 
the clouds, and his voice of thunder said, 

“Dost thou rebel against Men and Gods? — 


56 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Heaven and earth will be thy enemies. Woe is 
thee!” And all had vanished — Wally awoke. The 
chill evening wind whistled through the window- 
slits on the girl. She rubbed her eyes; her heart 
still trembled at the weird dream; she thought long 
before she knew where she was, or could separate 
the images of her dream from the reality; an in- 
explicable sense of horror remained in her mind 
and mingled itself with all she saw. She rose from 
her bed and involuntarily called loudly for the 
servant. She went out of the hut to seek him; it 
was a clear and beautiful evening; the mists were 
scattered, but the sun was low and the breeze blew 
keenly from the heights. Wally hastened hither 
and thither in search of the deaf man; she found 
only the pile of firewood that he had made for her. 
Then it occurred to her that he had said he would go 
away while she was asleep. It was so; he had not 
waited for her awakening. It was not right of him 
to abandon her while she slept. To wake thus and 
find no one; it was hard! All was so silent around 
her, so deserted and empty. It must be six o’clock 
and milking time. The confiding cattle would look 
at the stable door, where no mistress would come 
in with bread and salt for them — she was sitting up 
here with her hands in her lap, and around her far 
and wide stirred no living thing. Oh! the deathly 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


57 


stillness and inaction — she knew not how she felt — : 
alone, so terribly alone! She climbed higher still, 
on to an overhanging point, that she might look 
down upon the wide world. A vast unknown pic- 
ture was spread before her eyes in the purple of 
the setting sun. There lay before her to the very 
verge of the horizon the great range of the Tyrol, 
in the distance growing fainter and fainter, close 
at hand crushing and overpowering her with their 
great silent sublimity; between them, like children 
in their father’s arms, slept the blooming valleys. 
A nameless longing seized her for the beloved fields 
of home, that even now lay reposing peacefully 
before her eyes in the evening shadows. The sun 
had set, and on the horizon lay violet clouds shot 
with streaks of ruddy gold; little by little, the pale 
full moon began to shine, contesting the victory 
with the last flickering gleams of day. Down in 
the valleys it was already night; here and there, 
scarcely visible in the distance, a light glimmered 
from afar — a star of earth. Now they were going 
to rest, her weary companions down yonder. With 
them all was well; a friendly roof was above their 
heads; they rested securely in the bosom of a 
sheltered home — perhaps, already half-asleep, they 
still listened behind the coloured curtain of the 
little window to the beloved one’s song — only she 


58 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


was alone, thrust forth and banished, exposed de- 
fenceless to every terror, her only shelter the in- 
hospitable hut, where the wind whistled through 
the empty window-slits. “Father, father, how could 
thou have the heart to do it?” she cried aloud, but 
near and far nothing answered but the rush of the 
night-wind. Higher and higher rose the moon, the 
streaks of light in the west lost their gold, and 
glimmered only a pale yellow in the darkness of 
the evening sky. The outlines of the mountains 
seemed to shift and grow larger in the twilight; 
threatening, overpowering, her nearest neighbour, 
the mighty Similaun, looked down upon her. All 
the giant peaks around seemed to stare at her 
frowningly, because she had dared to spy out their 
nightly aspect. It was as though only since Wally’s 
arrival, they had all become so still and quiet — as 
a company that confers of private affairs is sud- 
denly dumb when a stranger enters. There she 
stood, the helpless human form, so lonely in the 
midst of this silent, motionless world of ice, so in- 
accessibly high above all living things, so strange 
in the weird company of clouds and glaciers, in 
the terrible, mysterious silence. “Now art thou all 
alone in the world!” cried an inner voice, and an 
unspeakable anguish, the anguish of the forsaken 
ones, swept over her. It seemed to her all at once 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 59 

as though she were doomed to go on, for ever lost, 
through vast immeasurable space, and as though 
seeking help she clung to the steep wall of rock, 
pressing her wildly-beating heart against the cold 
stone. 

What passed within her in that hour, she herself 
did not know, but it seemed as though the stone 
against which she pressed her young, warm, trem- 
bling heart, had exercised some mysterious power 
over her, for that hour left her hard and rough 
as if she had been in very truth Murzoll’s child. 


6o 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER V. 

Old Luckard. 

When about a week later the herdsman came 
up the mountain with the flocks, Wally almost 
frightened him, she looked so wasted away; but 
when he said to her, “Thy father bids me ask thee 
if thou’st had enough of being up here, and if 
thou’ll do thy duty?” — she set her teeth and an- 
swered, “Tell my father, I’d sooner let myself be 
eaten piecemeal by the vultures, than do anything 
to please them that drove me up here!” 

This was for the present the last message that 
passed between her and her father. 

When Wally had her little flock around her, 
which consisted only of sheep and goats, for larger 
animals could not find sufficient food on these 
heights, then her old spirit revived and the mountain 
lost its terrors for her. In the midst of her helpless 
charges she was no longer alone, she had again 
some one to work for, something to care about. 
For though the vulture had been a faithful com- 
panion, yet he could not do away with the in- 
activity that had driven her almost to despair, and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


6l 


allowed dark thoughts to gain the mastery over 
her. 

So little by little she became accustomed to 
the solitude, and it grew dear and sweet to her. 
Life with its daily claims, small and great, narrows 
and confines every great nature: up here Wally’s 
untameable spirit could expand without constraint; 
up here was freedom — no human being to gainsay 
her, no alien will to oppose itself to hers — and 
standing there, the only soul-gifted being far and 
wide, by degrees she felt herself a queen on her 
solitary, lofty throne, a sovereign in the unmea- 
surable, silent realm that lay beneath her eyes. 
And she looked down at last from her heights with 
a mixture of pity and scorn on the miserable race 
below, who, wrapped in earth-born clouds, spent 
their lives in longing and grasping, in haggling and 
hoarding, and a secret aversion took the place of 
her first home-sickness. There, far below, were 
strife and anguish and crime. Murzoll had spoken 
truly in her dream — up here among the pure 
elements of ice and snow, in the clear atmosphere, 
free from all smoke, or pestilential taint of death — 
here was peace, here was innocence; here among 
the mighty tranquil mountain forms, which in the 
beginning had terrified her, the sentiment of the 
sublime had flooded her soul and had raised it far 


62 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


above the common measure of mankind. One only 
of all those low earthly inhabitants remained to her 
dear and beautiful and great as before. It was 
Joseph the bear-slayer, the Saint George of her 
dreams. But he, like herself, dwelt more on the 
heights than in the valleys, he had climbed all the 
sky-piercing peaks on which no other foot would 
venture, he brought down the chamois from the 
steepest rocks, and for him nor height nor depth 
had any terror; he was the strongest, the bravest of 
men, as she was the strongest, the bravest of 
maidens. In all the Tyrol no maiden was worthy 
of him but herself; in all the Tyrol no man was 
worthy of her but he. They belonged to one an- 
other, they were the giants of the mountains; with 
the puny race of the valleys they had nothing in 
common. 

So, in her solitude, she lived for him only, and 
awaited the day when this promise should be ful- 
filled to her. That day must come, and being 
certain of this, she did not lose patience. 

Thus the summer passed away, and winter fell 
upon the valleys, and soon Wally must descend 
with its wild forerunners, the storm and the snow, 
to her estranged home. She quailed at the thought. 
Rather would she have crept up here into some 
deepest ice-cave with suspended existence like the 


THE yULTURE-MAlDEN. 63 

wild bear than go down again to the noise and 
smoke of the low spinning- room, and be wedged, 
together with her morose father, her detested suitor, 
and the malicious servants, within the narrow com- 
pass of the house, imprisoned behind walls of snow 
a foot high, out of which, often for weeks at a 
time, no escape was possible. 

The nearer the time came, the heavier her heart 
grew, the more despondingly did she revolt against 
the thought of that imprisonment; but time passed 
on, and no one came to fetch her; it seemed as 
though down there she was entirely forgotten. 
Colder ever and more wintry grew the weather, 
the days ever shorter, the nights ever longer; two 
sheep perished in a snow-storm; soon the animals 
could find no more food, and the time for fetching 
home the flocks was gone and past. “They mean 
to leave us to die up here of hunger,” said Wally 
to the vulture, as she divided her last piece of 
cheese with him, and a secret horror swept over 
her; the young healthy life rebelled within her 
against the terrible thought. What should she do? 
Forsake the flock and find the homeward track, 
leaving the innocent beasts to perish miserably? 
N a y ! — that Wally would not do — she would stand 
or fall like a brave commander with his troops. 
Or should she -set out together with the flocks, all 


64 the vulture-maiden. 

ignorant of the road as she was, and wander over 
the snow-covered Ferner to see at last one animal 
after another sink amid the ice and snow, or fall 
into the clefts of the rock? This also was im- 
possible; she could do nothing but wait. 

At last, one misty autumn morning when she 
could not see her hand before her face for the fog, 
when the little flock, trembling with frost, were all 
huddled together in their fold, and Wally, stiff with 
cold, sat over the fire on the hearth — then the boy 
appeared to conduct her home. And though she 
had shrunk with horror from the thought of slowly 
starving up here with her flock, yet now all her 
former dread of the return home came upon her 
again, and she knew not which seemed the greater 
evil — to sink here by the side of her harsh father 
Murzoll, or to be obliged to go back to her real 
father. 

The herd-boy broke the silence: “Thy father 
bids me tell thee thou’s not to come into his sight 
unless thou’ll do as he' bids thee; but, if thou’ll not 
hear reason, then thou may stay with the cow-herd 
in the stable — into the house thou shall not come; 
that he’s sworn.” “So much the better,” said Wally, 
drawing a deep breath, and the boy stared at her 
in astonishment. 

Now she could go down with a light heart; 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


65 


now she would be spared all contact with those 
hated people, and could live for herself in barn 
and stable; what her father had devised as a punish- 
ment, was to her an act of kindness. Now she 
could indulge her thoughts undisturbed; and if she 
was in need of encouragement there was old Luckard 
who was always so good to her. Yes, in her soli- 
tude she had first learned to understand what was 
the true worth of such a faithful heart, and that 
her father could not take from her. 

She set to work almost cheerfully to prepare 
for her homeward journey; for now that her dread 
of the hateful intercourse with her father was re- 
moved, she could think with silent joy on the glad- 
ness of the old woman at the return of her foster- 
child. There was still some one down yonder who 
took pleasure in her, and that thought did her good. 

“Come, Hansl,” she said when all was packed 
to the vulture, who, with ruffled feathers, sat un- 
willing to move on the hearth, “now we are off to 
see old Luckard!” 

“But Luckard’s not at the farm any more,” said 
the boy. 

“Why, where is she, then?” asked Wally startled. 

“The master has turned her out.” 

“Turned her out! old Luckard!” cried Wally. 
“Why, what’s been the matter?” 

The Vulture- Maiden. 


5 


66 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“She couldn’t get on with Vincenz, and he’s 
everything with the master now,” the boy explained 
in a tone of indifference, and, whistling, he hoisted 
the bundle of Wally’s things. Wally had turned 
quite pale. “And where is she now?” she asked. 

“With old Annemiedel in Winterstall.” 

“How long ago did it happen?” 

“Oh, about three weeks ago. She cried ever so, 
and could hardly walk, the fright went to her knees; 
Klettenmaier and the boy had to hold her or she’d 
have tumbled down. All the village stood round 
and looked on to see her go away.” 

Wally had listened motionless, her sunburnt 
face had turned quite pale, and her breast heaved 
painfully. When the boy had ended, she seized her 
staff from the wall, flung the vulture on to her 
shoulder, and stepped out of the hut. 

“Go on first,” she commanded in a hoarse voice. 
The little flock was quickly assembled, the milking 
gear packed together, and the procession set itself 
in motion. Wally spoke not a word; a fearful ten- 
sion marked her features, and with lips pressed to- 
gether, a threatening line that recalled her father’s 
look between her thick brows, she led the flock on- 
wards with long strides, her firm step leaving deep 
tracks in the snow. Faster and ever faster she 
walked, the farther down she got, till the boy with 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


67 


the flock could scarcely keep up with her, and where 
the way was steep she struck the iron point of her 
staff into the soil and swung herself down with a 
mighty spring, so that only the vulture in the air 
could follow her path over cliffs and crevasses. 
Often both herdsman and flock vanished in the mist 
behind her; then she stood still and waited a mo- 
ment till they were in sight, and when the boy had 
indicated the direction of the road, on she went 
again without rest or pause, as if it were a matter 
of life and death. 

At last the region of perpetual snow was passed, 
and at Wally’s feet lay Vent, as it had lain six 
months before when she had gone up the mountain; 
only not now in the glow of the May sunshine, but 
forlorn, autumnal, cold and dead. The boy an- 
nounced that they must rest there for a while. 
Wally refused, but the boy declared it would be as 
good as killing both man and beast, not to rest for 
half an hour. 

“As thou will,” said Wally, “stay — . I am going 
on. If they ask where I am when thou gets 
home, say only that I am gone to old Luckard.” 
And she strode on, the flapping wings of the faith- 
ful Hansl rustling over her; he could fly now as he 
liked, for Wally no longer clipped his wings. 

Now she had reached the spot where on her 

5 * 


68 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN, 


upward journey Luckard had bid her farewell and 
turned homewards again. “Dear old Luckard !” 
Wally fancied she could see her again quite plainly, 
crying in her apron as she turned away, waving her 
one more farewell with her brown, bony arms, her 
silver locks that always hung from below her cap 
fluttering in the wind. She had grown grey in 
honour and fidelity in Stromminger’s house, and 
now shame had fallen on that white head! And 
Wally had parted from her so lightly, and repressed 
her tears, and had torn herself impatiently away 
when the old woman in her grief would not let her 
go; and no foreboding had warned her of the fate 
to which she was sending the unprotected old ser- 
vant with that brief farewell, or that Luckard for 
her sake would suffer hardship and disgrace. Wally 
ran and ran as if she could overtake Luckard going 
down the road as she had gone six months before; 
and in spite of the autumn frost, the sweat stood 
on her brow, the sweat of a winged haste to pay 
her heavy debt of gratitude; and hot tears gathered 
in her eyes as she seemed always to see the old 
woman silently walking and walking on before her. 
She went so slowly, poor old Luckard, and Wally 
so fast; and yet they remained always as far apart, 
and Wally could not overtake her. 

For one instant must Wally pause for rest and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


69 


breath. She wiped the drops from her brow and 
the tears from her eyes; then she felt as if driven 
inexorably onwards again. “Wait, Luckard, only 
wait, I’m coming to thee,” she murmured breath- 
lessly to herself, as if for her own comfort. 

At last the church tower of Heiligkreuz rose up 
before her, and from thence a giddy path led high 
over the torrent to a solitary group of houses on 
the farther side of the ravine. This was the little 
spot called Winterstall, where Luckard was living. 
Wally passed behind the houses of Heiligkreuz, and 
crossed the slight bridge beneath which the wild 
waters of the Ache roared and foamed as though 
they would sprinkle with their angry froth even the 
defiant girl who looked carelessly down into the 
awful depths as though neither danger nor dizzi- 
ness existed in the world. The bridge was passed, 
still a steep bit of road remained, and then at last 
it was reached, the goal for which she had striven 
with a beating heart; she was in Winterstall, and 
there just to the left of the path stood the hut of 
Luckard’s cousin, old Annemiedel, its tiny windows 
deep set beneath the overhanging thatch. Behind 
them, no doubt, the old woman sat spinning, as was 
her custom in the winter-season, and Wally drew a 
deep breath out of a lightened heart. She had 
reached the cottage, and before entering she looked 


70 JKE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

smiling through the low window for Luckard. But 
there was no one in the room ; it looked empty and 
deserted with an unmade bed in one corner left 
standing in a disorderly heap. Above it, a smoke- 
blackened wooden Christ stretched his arms on a 
cross, on which were hung a piece of crape and a 
dusty garland of rue. It was a dreary scene, and 
at the sight of it all joy forsook Wally; she set 
down the vulture on a rail, unlatched the door and 
stepped into the narrow passage. At one end an 
open door led into the little kitchen, where a small 
fire of brushwood smouldered on the hearth. Some 
one was there busily at work; it must certainly be 
old Luckard, and with a beating heart Wally walked 
in. The cousin stood on the hearth cutting up 
bread for her soup. No one else was there. 

“Oh, my God! Wally Stromminger!” cried the 
old woman, and let her knife fall into the platter 
in her astonishment. “Oh, my God, what a pity, 
what a pity!” 

“Where is Luckard?” said Wally. 

“She is dead! Oh, my God, if thou’d only 
come three days sooner — we buried her yesterday.” 
Wally leant silent and with closed eyes against the 
door post; no sign betrayed what was passing in 
her soul. 

“IBs a real pity!” continued the old woman 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


7 


loquaciously. “Luckard said she felt as if she 
couldn’t die without seeing thee once more, and 
thou was always coming on the cards, and day and 
night she would listen to hear if thou wasn’t com- 
ing. And when she felt herself near death, ‘After 
all, I must die,’ she said, ‘and I’ve never seen the 
child,’ and then she would have the cards once 
more, and she wanted to lay them out for thee in 
the very death-struggle, but she couldn’t do it, her 
hand shook on the counterpane. ‘I can see no 
more,’ she said, and lay back, and it was all 
over.” 

Wally clasped her hands over her face, but still 
no word passed her lips. 

“Come into the bedroom,” said the old woman 
goodnaturedly. “I’ve hardly borne to go in there 
since they carried Luckard out. I’m always so 
alone, and I was so glad when my cousin came and 
said now she’d stay with me. But I soon saw she 
couldn’t live long after her disgrace. It went to her 
stomach, she could hardly eat anything, and every 
night I could hear her crying, and so she got al- 
ways weaker and thinner — till she died.” 

The old woman had opened the door of the 
room into which Wally had looked before, and they 
went in. A swarm of autumn flies buzzed up. In 
the corner stood Luckard’s old spinning wheel silent 


72 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


and still, and the empty disordered bed confronted 
it sadly. 

From a panelled cupboard on which the black 
Virgin of Altenotting was depicted, Annemiedel 
took a worn pack of German cards. 

“There, see; I laid the pack by for thee, I was 
sure thee would come. It always stood so on the 
cards. They’re true witches’ cards these, and a 
pack that has had the touch of a dead hand on it, 
that is doubly good. I don’t know what misfortune 
they’re sending thee, but Luckard always shook her 
head and read them with a fearful heart. She never 
told me what she saw in them, but for sure it was 
no good.” 

She gave Wally the cards; Wally took them in 
silence and put them in her pocket. The cousin 
wondered that Luckard’s death should not touch 
her more nearly, that she should be so quiet and 
not even shed a tear. 

“I must go,” the old woman said, “I’ve got my 
soup on the fire. Say, thou’ll dine with me?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Wally gloomily, “only go, cousin, 
and let me rest awhile. I sprang almost straight 
down here from the Hochjoch.” 

Annemiedel went away shaking her head. “If 
Luckard had only known what a hard-hearted thing 
it is!” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


73 


Scarcely was Wally alone when she bolted the 
door behind the old woman and fell on her knees 
by the empty bed. She drew the cards from her 
pocket, laid them before her, and folded her hands 
over them as over some holy relic. 

“Oh! Oh!” she cried aloud, in a sudden out- 
burst of grief: “Thou’st had to die, and I was not 
with thee; and in all my life long thou’s always 
been loving and good to me — and I — I did not 
pay it back. Luckard, dear old Luckard, can thou 
not hear me ? I am here now — and now it is too 
late. They left me up there. There’s no herds- 
man they’d have left so long, and it was all malice, 
that I might just be frozen and then give in! It 
had already cost me two of my flock — and now 
thee too, thou poor good Luckard!” 

Suddenly she sprang to her feet; her eyes red 
with crying flashed with a feverish light, she 
clenched her brown fists. “Only wait down yonder, 
you scoundrels — only wait till I come. I will teach 
you to drive innocent and helpless folk out of house 
and home. As true as God is above us, Luckard, 
thou shall hear even in thy grave how I will stand 
up for thee!” 

Her eyes fell on the crucifix over the dead wo- 
man’s bed. “And Thou ! Thou let’st everything go as 
it will, and Thou helps no one that cannot help him- 


74 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


self,” she murmured bitterly in her storm of grief 
to the silent enduring image above, whose signi- 
ficance she never could understand. She was ter- 
rible in her righteous anger. All that lay in her 
of her father’s inflexible nature had developed itself 
unfettered up yonder in the wilds, and her great 
and noble heart that knew none but the purest im- 
pulses drove without suspecting it ill-seething blood 
through her veins. 

She gathered together her sacred relics, the 
cards, on which the dying woman’s clammy fingers 
had traced the last message of her love; then she 
went out into the kitchen to Annemiedel. 

“I will now go on, cousin,” she said calmly, “I 
only beg thee to tell me how things fell out be- 
tween Luckard and Stromminger — ” she no longer 
called him father. The old woman had just served 
the soup in a wooden bowl and she insisted on 
Wally’s sharing it with her. 

“Thou must know,” she said, while Wally was 
eating, “Vincenz there, he knows just how to come 
over thy father, and he’s got the better of him alto- 
gether. Ever since the summer, Stromminger’s had 
a bad foot and cannot walk. So Vincenz goes up 
to him every evening and passes the time for him 
playing cards, and always lets him win — he thinks 
he’ll gain once for all when he wins thee. The 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


75 


old man can hardly live now without Vincenz, and 
so little by little he’s given him the oversight of 
everything, because with his lame foot he can never 
get about himself. So Vincenz thinks now the 
house and farm half belong to him already, and 
bustles in and out just as he pleases. That was 
how the quarrel began with Luckard, for Luckard, 
she would always see that everything was right and 
fair, as she was used to do, and Vincenz took every- 
thing out of her hands and she durst never say a 
word. Then when he saw that Luckard was down- 
right pining, he said to her that he’d let her manage 
everything just as if she’d been mistress, and that 
he’d take care to wink at anything she might like 
to do, if she’d only help him to get thee — for he 
knew very well that she could do anything with 
thee. And then Luckard grew angry; ‘She’d never 
stolen in her life,’ she said, ‘and wasn’t going to 
begin now in her old age — she wanted nothing but 
what she could earn honestly, and that as for the 
man who’d look on at cheating and say nothing, 
she’d never recommend him to Wally,’ she said. 
And what does the villain do? goes straight to 
Stromminger and accuses Luckard. He’d convinced 
himself now, he said, that it was only Luckard that 
had set thee against him and thy father, and it was 
all her doing, he said, that thou was so unruly, be- 


76 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

cause she was fain to hold everything under her 
own hand. That’s how it all came about. And it 
just broke her heart to think that such things were 
believed of her, when not a word of it all was true. 
It grieved her such injustice should be done. Is it 
not true, she never said to thee that thou shouldn’t 
obey thy father?” 

“Never, never; on the contrary she was always 
humble and discreet, and never talked about what 
she had nothing to do with,” said Wally, and again 
her burning eyes were wet. She turned away her 
face and rose to go. “God keep thee, cousin,” she 
said, “I’ll soon come back again.” She took her 
staff and hat, called her bird, and set out hastily 
towards home. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


77 


CHAPTER VI. 

A Day at Home. 

As Wally went back across the bridge, she turned 
giddy; she felt now for the first time how the blood 
had mounted to her head. The milder air down 
here that felt heavy and oppressive after the clear, 
icy atmosphere of the Ferner, the bird that clung 
tightly to her shoulder as her rapid movements 
made his hold insecure — all seemed painful, almost 
unbearable. At last she came to the village where 
her home stood, but to reach it she was obliged to 
go the whole length of the street, to the very last 
house. All the villagers, who had just finished their 
dinners, put their heads out of window and pointed 
£t her with their fingers. “See, there goes the 
Vulture-maiden. Hast ventured down at last, then? 
And thou’s brought the vulture back with thee, 
thou and he were not frozen together, then? Thy 
father left thee to shiver up there long enough!” 
“Let’s see, now, how thou’rt looking? As brown and 
lean as a Schnalser herdsman.” “He! he! thou’s 
grown tame enough up yonder; yes, yes, that’s the 
way to serve such as will not obey their father!” 


78 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


A shower of spiteful comments such as these 
fell around Wally; she kept her eyes bent on the 
ground, and the burning red of shame and bitter- 
ness mounted to her brow. Insulted — scoffed at — 
thus the proud daughter of the chief peasant returned 
to her home. And all — for what? An implacable 
hatred rose up in her, sorer, bitterer than anger; for 
anger may subside, but the deep hatred that grows 
in an embittered, ill-treated heart strikes its roots 
through the whole being; it is the silent, persistent 
outcome of helpless revenge. 

Silently Wally mounted the hill behind the 
hamlet whence Stromminger’s farm looked proudly 
down. No one noticed her arrival but the deaf 
Klettenmaier, who was splitting wood for winter-use 
under the wooden shed in the yard; all the others 
were in the field. 

“God be praised,” he said, and took off his 
cap to his master’s child. She set down her burden, 
the heavy vulture, on the ground, and gave her 
hand to the old man. 

“Thou’s heard?” he said. “Old Luckard?” 

Wally nodded. 

“Ay! ay!” he continued without interrupting his 
work. “If Vincenz once takes a dislike to any one 
he never rests till he’s driven them out. He’d be 
glad enough to see me off the place, for he knows 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


79 


very well I always held by Luckard, and he thinks 
that if no one was left at the farm to help thee, 
thou dursn’t be so wilful. And because there’s no- 
thing else he can do to me, he leaves me always 
the hardest work; I’ve a whole waggon load of 
wood to cut up every day, but I can’t do it for 
long. See, I’m nearly seventy-six years old, and 
this is the third day. But that’s just what he wants, 
to be able to tell Stromminger that I’m no longer 
good for anything, or else for me to go away of 
myself when I can hold out no more. But where 
could I go — an old man like me? I must hold 
out.” 

Wally had listened with a gloomy countenance 
to the old man’s speech. Now she went quickly 
into the house to fetch bread and wine for him; 
but the store-room was locked and so was the 
cellar. Wally went into the kitchen. Her heart 
felt a pang — here had been Luckard’s peculiar 
domain, and she felt as if the old woman must 
come to meet her and ask: “How is it with thee? 
what does thou want? — what can I do to serve 
thee?” But all that was over and gone. A strange 
and sturdy servant girl sat on the hearth, peeling 
potatoes. 

“Where are the keys?” asked Wally. 

“What keys?” 


8o 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN; 


“The keys of the store-room and the cellar!” 

The girl looked insolently at Wally. “Ho, ho! 
what next — and who may thou be?” 

“That thou might guess well enough,” said 
Wally proudly, “I am the master’s daughter.” 

“Ha, ha,” laughed the girl, “then thou may just 
take thyself out of the kitchen. The master has 
forbidden that thou should come into the house. 
Over there in the barn — that’s thy place. Dost un- 
derstand me?” 

Wally grew pale as death. Thus, then — thus 
was she to be received in her father’s house. Wall- 
burga, daughter of the Strommingers, must give 
way to the lowest servant girl on the estate to which 
she was heir! Not only was she to be forbidden 
her father’s presence — it was intended to break her 
spirit through degrading humiliations. She, Wally, 
the Vulture-maiden, of whom her father had once 
proudly said that a girl like her was worth ten 
boys! 

“Give me the keys!” she commanded in a firm 
voice. 

“Ha! ha! that’s better still. The master has 
ordered us to look on thee as a stable girl— 
there’s no question of keys there. I look after the 
house, and I give out nothing but what the master 
allows.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


81 


“The keys,” cried Wally in an outburst of anger, 
“I command thee!” 

“Thou’s no call to command me — dost under- 
stand? I’m Stromminger’s servant, and none of 
thine. And I am master in the kitchen, dost under- 
stand? It’s Stromminger’s orders. And if Strom- 
minger holds his own daughter lower than a servant 
— no doubt he knows the reason why!” 

Wally stepped close up to the servant, her eyes 
flashed, her lips quivered; the girl was frightened. 
But only for an instant did the struggle last in 
Wally, then her pride conquered; with the miser- 
able serving maid she had nothing to do. She left 
the house. Her pulses beat like hammers, her eyes 
swam, her bosom rose and fell in gasps; it was too 
much — all that this day had brought her. She 
crossed the yard, took the cleaver from the hand 
of the old man who was trembling with his efforts, 
and led him to a bench that he might rest himself. 
He honestly resisted, he dared not leave his task 
incomplete; but Wally made him understand she 
would do his work for him. 

“God bless thee, thou hast a good heart,” said 
the man, seating himself wearily on the bench. 
Wally went into the shed and split the heavy logs 
with mighty blows. So wrathfully did she swing 
the axe that at each stroke she hit it through the 

6 


The Vulture-Maiden. 


82 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


wood deep into the block. The old man watched 
with astonishment how the work went on better in 
her hands than in a man’s, and he took a pride 
in it — he had seen the child grow up from her 
birth and loved her in his own way. But Wally 
saw afar the hated form of Vincenz approaching, 
and involuntarily she discontinued her work. Vin- 
cenz did not see her. He came up from behind 
Klettenmaier, and suddenly stood close in front of 
the startled old man, whilst Wally observed him from 
within the shed. He seized the man by the doublet 
and pulled him up. “Hallo,” he screamed in his 
ear, “dost call that working? thou lazy dawdle, 
thou; as often as I come by thou’s sitting there 
doing nothing — now I’ve had enough of it — be off 
with thee,” and he gave him a push with his knee, 
so that the trembling old man was flung to a dis- 
tance on the stone pavement of the yard. 

“Help, master! help me up,” cried the man im- 
ploringly, but Vincenz had seized a cudgel and 
raised his arm. “Wait a bit — thou shall see how 
I help up a lazy knave!” he said. At this moment 
such a blow fell on Vincenz’s head that he uttered 
a loud cry and staggered backwards. “God in 
heaven, what is that?” he stammered and sank 
upon the bench. 

“It is the Vulture-maiden,” answered a voice 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


33 


trembling with rage, and Wally, the hatchet in her 
hand, stood before him with white lips and staring 
eyes, struggling for breath as if the wild pulses of 
her heart were choking her. 

“Did thou feel that?” she panted out with 
breathless pauses. “Dost know now how it feels 
to get a heavy blow? I’ll teach thee to oppress 
my faithful old servant. Thou’st already sent my 
Luckard underground, and now thou’ll do the same 
by this old man? Nay, before I’ll suffer such a 
deed, I’ll set my whole inheritance in flames and 
smoke thee out of it as I would a fox.” Mean- 
while she had helped up old Klettenmaier, and led 
him out to the barn. “Go in, Klettenmaier,” she 
said, “and recover thyself, / order thee.” 

Klettenmaier obeyed; he felt that at this mo- 
ment she was master, but at the door he freed 
himself from her support and said, shaking his 
head, “Thou shouldn’t have done it, Wally — go 
and look after Vincenz; I fear thou’st given him a 
heavy blow.” 

She left the old man and went out again. Vin- 
cenz lay quite still. Wally looked at him with 
half-averted eyes; he had lost consciousness and lay 
stretched out on the bench, and blood dripped from 
his head on to the ground. With quick decision, 
Wally went into the kitchen and called to the girl; 

6 * 


8 4 


.THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Come out here; bring some vinegar and a cloth 
and help me.” 

“What, thou’s more orders to give already,” 
said the girl, laughing out loud, without stirring 
from the spot where she sat. 

“It’s not for me,” said Wally with a dark and 
evil glance, as she took the vinegar flask from the 
shelf. “Vincenz is lying out there — I’ve half killed 
him” 

“Heaven and earth!” shrieked the maid; and 
instead of hastening to help Vincenz, she ran 
screaming about the house and yard. “Help, help,” 
she cried; “Wally has struck Vincenz dead!” And 
from every side the alarm cry was echoed back till 
it reached even to the village, and every one ran to 
the spot. 

Wally had meanwhile called Klettenmaier to 
her assistance, and was washing the face of the 
senseless man with vinegar and water. She could 
not understand how it was the wound was so deep, 
for she had struck with the back of the "hatchet, 
and not with the sharp edge; but the blow had 
been dealt with a force of which she herself was 
unconscious. Her long restrained rage had con- 
centrated itself in that one stroke, which came 
crashing down as if she were still splitting the logs 
of wood. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


85 


“What’s happened here?” roared a voice in 
Wally’s ear, and her blood stood still — her father 
had dragged himself out on his crutches. “What’s 
happened here?” repeated twenty or thirty voices, 
and the yard was filled with people. 

Wally was silent. 

A buzzing murmur arose all round her, every 
one pressed forward, touching and examining the 
lifeless man. “Is he dead?” “Will he die?” 
“How came it about?” “Did Wally do it?” was 
asked from one to another. 

She stood there as though she neither heard 
nor saw, and laid a bandage on the wounded Vin- 
cenz. “Can thou not speak?” thundered her father. 
“What hast thou done, Wally?” 

“You can see!” was the short reply. 

“She owns to it,” they all shrieked together. 
“Gracious Heaven, what insolence!” “Thou gallows- 
bird, thou!” cried Stromminger. “Is it so thou 
comes down again to thy home?” 

At the word “home,” Wally gave a short bitter 
laugh and fixed a piercing glance on her father. 

“Laugh away,” cried Stromminger; “I thought 
thou’d learn better up there, and now, scarce a 
quarter of an hour in the house, thou’s already at 
mischief again.” 


86 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“He moves ,” cried one of the women, “he’s 
still alive.” 

“Carry him into the house and lay him on my 
bed,” ordered Stromminger, making way by the 
kitchen door against which he was leaning. Two 
men raised Vincenz and carried him indoors. 

“If only the doctor were here,” lamented the 
women, following the sick man into the room. 

“If only we had old Luckard, we should need 
no doctor,” said some of them, “she knew what 
was good for everything.” 

“Let her be fetched,” cried Stromminger, “tell 
her to come this instant.” 

Again Wally laughed. “Yes, truly, old Luckard,” 
she said. “Thou’d be glad to have her back again 
now, Stromminger! Thou must seek her now in 
the churchyard!” 

The people looked at each other in consterna- 
tion. “Is she dead?” asked Stromminger. 

“Yes, three days ago she died — died heart- 
broken because of what you did to her. See, 
Stromminger, it serves thee right, and if yon man 
dies because there is no one by who knows how to 
cure him, it serves him right too; so much as that 
he has well deserved of Luckard.” 

Now there arose a tumult — this was too bad. 
“After such a deed to talk like this, and say it 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


87 


served him right, instead of repenting it. Why, 
no one’s life was safe! and Stromminger to stand 
by and let her talk like that and never say a word! 
there was a fine father for you!” So they talked 
together, while Wally, with folded arms, stood de- 
fiantly in the kitchen door looking at Stromminger, 
who, in spite of himself, was hard hit by her re- 
proaches. Now however his wrath returned with 
double force, and raising himself on his crutch he 
cried to the crowd; “I’ll show you what manner of 
father I am! seize her and bind her.” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the people confusedly, “bind 
her, such a one should be under lock and bolt — 
before the justice she shall go, the murderess.” 

Wally utterred a dull cry at the word “mur- 
deress,” and drew back into the kitchen. “Hold,” 
cried Stromminger. “Before a justice my daughter 
shall never go; do you think I’ll live to see the 
chief peasant’s child taken off to prison? Do you 
know Stromminger no better than that? Do I need 
a court of justice to punish a wilful girl? Strom- 
minger himself is man enough for that, and on my 
own ground and my own territory I am my own 
judge and justice. I’ll soon show you who Strom- 
minger is, though I am lame. Into the cellar she 
shall go, and there remain under lock and key, till 
her proud spirit is broken and she comes after me 


88 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


on her knees before you all. You have heard, all 
of you, and if I don’t keep my word you may set 
me down a rascal.” 

“Merciful God, hast Thou forgotten judgment?” 
cried Wally. “No, father no! for God’s sake don’t 
lock me up! Turn me out, send me up the Murzoll 
to perish in the snow — I’ll die of hunger — I’ll die 
of cold — but under the open heavens. If you lock 
me up, harm will come of it!” 

“Aha, thou’d like to be off again wandering 
round like a vagabond — that would please thee 
better? Not so; I’ve been too soft with thee. 
Thou’ll stop under lock and key till thou asks 
pardon on thy knees of me and of Vincenz.” 

“Father, all that is no good with me; sooner 
than do that, I’d rot away in the cellar — that you 
might know of yourself. Let me go, father, or, I tell 
you once more, harm will come of it.” 

“There — enough said. Well, you — what are you 
all standing there for? Are you dreaming? Am I 
to run after her with my lame foot? Seize her, 
but hold her fast — she has Stromminger blood in 
her that’ll try your teeth — hold on there!” 

The peasants, stung by this mockery, crowded 
into the kitchen. “We’ll soon get hold of her!” 
they said scoffingly. 

But with one spring Wally was at the hearth, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


89 


and had snatched burning brands from the fire. 
“The first that touches me, I’ll singe him, hair and 
skin!” she cried, and stood like the archangel with 
the flaming sword. 

All fell back. 

“Shame upon you!” cried Stromminger. “All of 
you together might be a match for a girl! Strike 
the brands from her hand with a stick,” he ordered, 
in a paroxysm of rage, for it was now a point of 
honour with him to master his daughter before the 
eyes of the whole village. Some of them ran and 
fetched sticks; it was like hunting a wild animal, 
and a wild animal Wally had in truth become. Her 
eyes bloodshot, the sweat of agony on her brow, 
her white teeth clenched, she defended herself 
against this pack of hounds, fought like the wild 
beast of the forest, without reflection, without cal- 
culation, for her freedom — her life’s element. Now 
they struck with the sticks at the brands in her 
grasp, her only weapon, and she flung them into the 
midst of the crowd, so that they fell back on one 
another, shrieking; then, snatching another brand 
from the hearth, and yet another, she threw them 
like fiery shot at the heads of her assailants. The 
uproar grew louder. 

“Water here,” cried Stromminger, “fetch water, 
— put out the fire!” 


go 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


This would be an end to everything; the fire 
once out, Wally was lost. One moment more, and 
the water would be brought — despair seized the 
girl. All at once there came a thought — a terrible, 
desperate thought; but there was no time for con- 
sideration; the thought was a deed before she could 
reflect upon it, and waving a burning log in her 
hand, she rushed swift as an arrow through her 
pursuers out into the courtyard, and hurled the 
brand with a mighty fling on to the hay-loft, right 
into the middle of the hay and straw. 

There was a scream of terror and amazement. 
“Now put the fire out,” cried Wally, and flew across 
the courtyard through the gate, away and away, 
whilst all in the farm hurried shouting and storm- 
ing to extinguish the flames that were already blaz- 
ing upwards through the roof. 

With the rising pillar of smoke, as if born of 
the roaring flame, a dark object rose screeching 
from the roof, circled two or three times high over- 
head in the air, and then took flight in the direction 
in which Wally had fled. 

Wally heard the rushing sound behind her; she 
thought it was her pursuers, and ran blindly on. It 
was already night, but there was no darkness, a 
clear light quivered all around her, so that she 
might still be seen from afar. She mounted a steep 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


91 


point of rock whence she could look down the road, 
and now she saw that her pursuer was coming 
through the air. She had attained her end, no one 
thought any more of following her. To save the 
farm buildings was a more pressing need, and all 
hands were engaged in the work. The vulture 
overtook her as she stood there, and bounded 
against her with such force as nearly to throw her 
down from the rock. She pressed the bird to her 
bosom and sank exhausted on the ground. With 
dazed eyes she looked up at the glare of the fire 
that shone afar, and lighted up the dark mountain 
tops around. With a glowing and angry aspect her 
deed looked down on her — threatening, wrathful, 
overpowering. From every church tower in the 
canton round sounded the dismal peal of warning, 
and the bells rang out quite distinctly, “ Incendiary, 
incendiary.” But the terrible song lulled her senses 
to sleep — unconsciousness dropped a kindly veil 
over her hunted spirit. 


92 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“Hard Wood.” 

Deep night surrounded Wally when she once 
more opened her eyes. The red glow was ex- 
tinguished, the bells were silent; far below her in 
the ravine the Ache thundered its monotone, and 
over her head high in the heavens, stood a star. 
She gazed at it as she lay motionless with upturned 
face on the ground, and it seemed to beam down 
upon her with a look of forgiveness. A wonderful 
sense of consolation breathed through the night. 
The wind caressingly cooled her burning brow, she 
sat up and began to collect her thoughts. It could 
not be late, the moon was riot yet up, and the 
fire must have been very quickly extinguished. It 
must have been — for how could the conflagration 
spread when every one was there, and ready that 
moment to lend a helping hand? She knew not 
how it was, she searched herself to the very bottom 
of her soul, and she could not feel herself guilty. 
She had done it only from necessity, to keep off her 
pursuers whilst she gave them something else to 
do. She knew quite well that she would now be 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


93 


called an “incendiary,” but was she one indeed? She 
raised her eyes to the stars over her head; it was 
as if now, for the first time, she held communion 
with the great God, and what He said to her was 
— forgiveness. The pure night-sky looked peace- 
fully down on her, that open sky, for the love of 
which she had done the deed. Only under this 
high, vaulted dome of stars could she find space to 
breathe; to lie imprisoned in the gloomy cellar 
without light, without air, for weeks, for months — 
till, to escape, she went to the home of her hated 
suitor, and made herself a mockery and disgrace 
by open repentance on her knees before her father! 
It was worse than death — it was an impossibility! 

The girl who in utter loneliness had for six 
long months been the guest of the inhospitable 
wilderness of the Ferner, who had watched through 
many nights with the storm, the hail, the rain for 
her wild associates; whose brow the fire of heaven 
had kissed before it quivered to earth; round whom 
the thunder had warred in all its' terror, whilst its 
power was as yet unspent by the winds; the girl 
who had almost daily staked her life springing over 
some bottomless abyss to save a straying goat — 
this girl could no longer bend herself to the ideas 
and the tyranny of small minds, could not submit 
to bit and bridle like an animal, must defend her- 


94 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

self for life — unto death. Men had no longer any 
right over her; she had renounced them and mated 
herself with the elements. What wonder that she 
had called one of her wild companions — Fire — to 
her aid when warring against man? 

She could not understand it all, she had never 
learnt to reflect about her own consciousness; she 
knew not the “wherefore!” But she felt that God 
would not call her to account, that He from His 
supreme throne measured with a quite other stan- 
dard than that of man; even to her, up on her 
mountain heights, everything had appeared so small 
that down in the valley she had thought so large — 
how much more to Him up there in Heaven? God 
alone understood her; down below they might think 
her a criminal — God acquitted her. 

She raised herself and shook the burden from 
her soul, and felt herself as heretofore, vigorous and 
confident, strong and free. 

“Now, Hansl, what shall we do next?” asked 
she of the vulture, to whom in her solitude she 
had accustomed herself to talk aloud. Hansl was 
at that moment watching some reptile of the night, 
then snatched at it, and killed it. 

“ Thou’rt in the right,” said Wally, “we must 
seek our bread. For thee, it is well, thou can find 
it anywhere— but I?” Suddenly the bird became 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


95 


uneasy, flew up and watched something in the 
distance. 

Then it occurred to Wally that as soon as the 
fire was out she would be searched for, and that 
she must get farther away as quickly as might be. 
But whither? Her first thought was Solden. But 
the blood mounted to her face — might not Joseph 
think that she was running after him? And should 
he see her in disgrace and dishonour, poor, a run- 
away from home — pointed at and decried as an 
“incendiary.” 

No, he at least should never see her thus, 
rather would she run to the very ends of the earth. 
And without any further consideration she took 
the vulture on her shoulder — the only good or 
chattel that troubled her — and set out in the direc- 
tion whence she had come in the morning, to 
Heiligkreuz. 

She had walked for two hours, her feet were 
sore, she was weary to death, when the tower of 
Heiligkreuz rose up before her in the darkness, 
and, like a gleam from a lighthouse, the rising 
moon shone through the open belfry and showed 
the way to the aimless wanderer. 

Stumbling with fatigue, she dragged herself 
through the sleeping village up to the church. Now 
£nd then a dog barked, as with quiet steps she 


96 


.THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


passed along. Whoever observed her now would 
take her for a thief; she trembled as though she 
really were one; to what had the proud Wally 
Stromminger come! 

Behind the church was the parsonage; near the 
door was a wooden bench, and from wooden boxes 
in the little windows bushes of withered mountain- 
pinks hung down. Here she would remain till day- 
light; the priest would at least protect her from 
ill-usage. She lay down on the bench, the vulture 
perched on the railing at her head, and in a few 
minutes nature asserted its rights and she was 
asleep. 

“May the Lord defend us! what foundling has 
He sent me here!” sounded in Wally’s ears, and 
she opened her eyes. It was broad daylight, and 
there stood by her none other than the reverend 
cure himself. 

“Praised be Christ the Lord,” stammered Wally 
in bewilderment, and put her feet down from the 
bench. 

“For ever and ever, Amen. My child, how did 
you come here? who are you, and what strange 
companion is that you have with you? it is almost 
enough to frighten one!” said the priest with a 
friendly smile. 

“Your reverence,” said Wally simply, “I’ve 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


97 


something heavy on my conscience, and I would be 
glad to confess to you. My name is Wallburga, 
and I belong to Stromminger, the chief-peasant of 
the Sonnenplatte. I’ve run away from home; you 
see — Yincenz Gellner wanted to marry me, and I 
struck his head open with a blow, and then I set 
fire to my father’s barn — ” 

The priest clasped his hands together. “God 
help us, what tales are these! So young, and so 
wicked already!” 

“Your reverence, I am not really wicked, truly 
I am not — I wouldn’t hurt a fly — but they made me 
do it!” said Wally, and she looked up at the priest 
with her large honest eyes, so that he was obliged 
to believe her whether he would or not. 

“Come in,” he said, “and tell me all about it — 
but leave that monster outside;” he meant the vul- 
ture. Wally flung the bird upwards into the air, so 
that it flew on to the roof; then she followed the 
priest into the little house, and he made her come 
into his sitting-room. 

There all was still and peaceful. In the alcove 
stood a rough wooden bedstead with two flaming 
hearts painted over it, which to the cure signified 
the hearts of our Saviour and the Virgin Mary; 
over the bed was a holy-water cup in porcelain, 
and a shelf full of books of devotion; in the 

7 


The Vulture-Maiden. 


9 8 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


room there were more shelves with other books 
and an old writing desk, a brown bench behind a 
large heavy table, some wooden seats, a praying- 
stool beneath a great crucifix with a garland of 
edelweiss, and a few gaily coloured lithographs of 
the Pope and of various saints. From the ceiling 
hung a bird-cage with a crossbeak. An antique 
commode with lions’-heads holding rings in their 
mouths as handles to the heavy drawers, represented 
the luxury of the dwelling, and on this commode 
were all sorts of beautiful things. A little shrine 
with a carved saint, a glass box with a wax image 
of the infant Christ in a red silk cradle, a glass 
spinning wheel, and a bunch of tarnished artificial 
flowers, such as are made in convents, in a yellow 
vase under a glass shade; a small box with many 
coloured shells, a tiny model of a mine in a bottle, 
and, as a centre-piece, a little manger made in moss 
and sparkling fragments of spar, with delicately 
carved figures of men and beasts. A few pretty 
cups and mugs were not wanting amid these holy 
surroundings, and two small crystal salt cellars to 
the right and left of the nativity set off on either 
hand the central piece. 

And all was as clean as if no such thing as dirt 
existed in the world. This commode with the 
various objects upon it constituted the child-like 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


99 


altar which the lonely priest, six thousand feet 
above the sea and above modern culture, had raised 
to the God of beauty. Here he had stood many a 
time when the snow was whirling outside and the 
storm rocked the little wooden house, and gazed 
musingly at the tiny, neatly-carved world within, 
shaking his head with a smile and saying, “What 
will not men do next?” 

Much the same, thought Wally in passing by, as 
her glance fell on the marvellous trifles. Rich as 
her father was, such things as these had never 
found their way into his house; what indeed could 
the clumsy peasant have done with them? In her 
whole life she had never seen such things — she to 
whom, in comparison with her scythe and hay-fork, 
a spinning-wheel seemed the height of elegance. 
She felt as if in this little room she dare not move 
for fear of injuring something, as if here she must 
be particularly well-behaved. She wished to leave 
her iron-shod shoes at the door, so as not to spoil 
the smooth, white-scoured boards; but the priest 
would not allow it, so she trod as softly as she 
could and seated herself modestly at the farthest 
end of the bench which the cure offered her. The 
priest let his clear friendly eyes rest observingly 
upon her, and saw that she could not remove 
her astonished gaze from the ornaments on the 

7 * 


IOO 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


commode. The old man was a student of hu- 
manity. 

“You would like first to look at my pretty little 
things? Do so, my child; besides, you are not 
just yet collected enough for the serious matters we 
must speak of.” 

And he led Wally to the mysterious commode, 
and explained everything to her, and told her where 
each thing had come from. 

Wally did not venture to speak, and looked and 
listened full of reverence. When they had come to 
the manger, the last and the best, “See,” said the 
priest, “here at the back is Jerusalem, and there 
are the three Wise Kings who travelled to see the 
Holy Child — see, there is the star that is guiding 
them — and there lies the child in the manger, and 
does not dream yet that he is born to suffer for 
the sins of the whole world. For as yet He cannot 
think, and has brought no remembrance with him 
of His Heavenly home; for the Son of God became 
in all things a real child of man, like any other — 
else men might have said that there was no miracle 
in being as good and patient as Jesus Christ was, 
if He was the Son of God and had the power of God, 
and that it was no use to strive to follow such an 
example, if one was only an ordinary man. They say 
it often enough as it is, and go on in their sins.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


IOI 


Wally looked at the pretty naked infant with 
his gold paper glory lying there so patiently, and 
when she thought of the stern dark crucified God 
as a poor helpless baby born to suffering, it 
touched her compassion, and she was sorry that she 
had been “so rude 5 ’ to the poor crucified Being 
yesterday when standing by Luckard’s bed. 

“But why did He let it all happen to Him?” 
she said involuntarily more to herself than to the 
priest. 

“Because He wanted to show mankind that 
they should not repay evil for evil, and should not 
revenge themselves; for God has said, ‘Vengeance 
is mine. 5 55 Wally grew red, and cast down her 
eyes. 

“Now come, my child,” said the wise man, 
“and make your confession” 

“That will soon be done, your reverence,” said 
Wally. And honest as was her nature, she related 
to him, in low and timid tones indeed but without 
any attempts at palliation, how all had happened, 
and soon the whole circumstances were made clear 
to the confessor. A mighty picture of life lay un- 
rolled before him, sketched in rude and rough out- 
lines, and he pitied the noble young blood that 
had grown wild between rugged rocks and rugged 


men. 


102 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Long after Wally had ended he sat silent, look- 
ing meditatively before him. His gaze fixed itself 
on an old, much-read volume on a book-stand by 
the wall; a stranger whom he had received hos- 
pitably had given it to him; on the back stood 
printed in gold letters — Das Niebelungen-Lied. 

“Your reverence ,” said Wally, who took the 
thoughtfulness on his features for an expression of 
reproof; “it was too much, all coming together. I 
was still full of anger about poor old Luckard, and 
then he must needs strike the old man also. I 
couldn’t look on and see the old man beaten, that 
I could not, and if it were all to come over again, 
I should do just the same. An incendiary I am 
not — not even though they call me one. When a 
house is set fire to in broad daylight when every- 
one is about, nothing much can be burnt, that is 
certain. I didn’t know how else to help myself, 
and I thought that if they had to put it out, they 
couldn’t come after me. And if that is a sin, then 
I don’t know what is to be done in this world 
where men are so wicked and do one all the harm 
they can.” 

“We must do as Christ did — suffer and endure!” 
said the priest. 

“But, your reverence,” said Wally, “when Jesus 
Christ let men do as they would with Him , He 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. IO3 

knew why He did it— He wanted to teach people 
something. But I don’t know why I should do it, 
for no one would learn anything of me in all the 
Oetz valley. And if I had let myself be locked up 
in the cellar ever so patiently, it would all have 
been for nothing, for nobody would have taken 
example by me, and it would very likely have cost 
me my life.” 

For a moment the priest paused to reflect; then 
he fixed his kindly observant eyes on Wally and 
shook his head. 

“You wilful child, you. Even now you would 
like to begin some fresh dispute with me. They 
have wickedly roused and irritated you, till you 
imagine enmity and contradiction everywhere. Look 
round, recollect yourself and see where you are — 
you are with a servant of God, and God says ‘I am 
Love.’ And this shall be no empty word to you, 
I will show you that it is true. I will tell you that 
when all men hate and condemn you, still the 
good God loves you and forgives you. Such as 
you are, hard men, stern mountains, and wild 
storms have made you; and that the good God 
knows very well, for He can look into your heart 
and see that it is good and upright, however much 
you have been in fault. And He knows that no 
garden-flower can bloom in the desert, and that a 


104 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN, 


rude axe never carved a fine image. But now look 
farther. If our Lord and Master finds a piece of 
rude carving in particularly good wood, so that it 
seems to Him worth the trouble of making some- 
thing better out of it, then He Himself takes the 
knife and carves the bungling work of man, that 
under His hand it may grow into beauty. Now 
listen, for I say take heed not to let your heart 
grow harder, for when the Lord has cut once or 
twice at the wood, if He finds it too hard He 
grudges the trouble, and throws the work away. 
Take heed then, my child, that your heart be soft 
and yielding under the shaping finger of God. If 
its hard pressure seems to you unbearable, yield, 
and think you feel the hand of God that is working 
on you. And if pain cuts sharply into your soul, 
think it is the knife of God cutting away its rugged- 
ness. Do you understand me?” 

Wally nodded somewhat doubtfully. 

“Well,” said the old man, “I will make it still 
clearer to you. Which would you rather be, a rough 
stick with which men may perhaps fight and kill each 
other, and which when it is rotten is broken up 
and burnt, or a finely carved holy image like that 
one yonder that is set in a frame and devoutly 
honoured?” 

This time Wally understood and nodded 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. IO5 

quickly. “Why, of course — rather a holy image like 
that.” 

“Well, see now. Rude hands have made a 
rough block out of you, but God’s hand can carve 
you into a holy image if you will do just as He 
bids you.” 

Wally looked at the speaker with wide, aston- 
ished eyes; she felt so strangely — pleased and yet 
ready to weep. After a long silence, she said 
timidly, “I don’t know how it is, Sir, but with you 
everything is quite different to what it is anywhere 
else. No one ever spoke so to me before. The 
priest at Solden always scolded and talked about 
the Devil and our sins; and I never knew what he 
would have, for at that time I had done nothing 
wrong. But you speak so that one can understand 
you — I mean that if I might stay with you — that 
would be the best for me; I’d work night and day 
and earn my bit of bread.” 

The cure considered a long time; then he 
shook his head mournfully. 

“That cannot be, my poor child. Even if I 
myself wished it, it would not do. Though I might 
grant it to you in God’s name, before men I dare 
not. For God sees the motive, men see only the 
deed. The priest in the confessional is one thing 
— the priest in common life is another. In the 


106 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

confessional he is the medium of Grace, in the 
world he is the medium of Law. He must incite 
men, by word and example, to honour and keep 
the law. Think what people would say if the 
priest took a notorious incendiary into his house. 
Would they understand why I did so? Never — 
they would only conclude that I had taken the 
sinner under my protection, and thereupon sin the 
more. And if afterwards we lived to see a really 
wicked incendiarism, I should have to reproach 
myself bitterly that I had given encouragement to 
it by my indulgence to you. Can you not under- 
stand this, and take it without murmuring as the 
unavoidable result of your deeds?” 

“Yes,” said Wally gloomily; and her eyes red- 
dened with repressed tears. Then she rose quickly 
and said shortly, “I thank your reverence very 
much then, and wish you good morning.” 

“Hey, hey,” cried the priest, “so high-flown 
again already? Don’t you think it will be shorter 
to go through the wall than through the door? In 
your place, I would sooner go straight through the 
wall!” 

Wally stood still ashamed, and looked down at 
the floor. The old gentleman looked at her with a 
comical expression of wonder, “How much will it 
not cost you to subdue that hasty blood? Is that 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 107 

the way you mean to run off? Did I say I would 
leave you to your fate because I cannot keep you 
with me in my house? First of all, you must have 
breakfast with me, for man must eat, and God 
knows how long it is since you eat last. Then we 
will talk farther.” He went to a sliding panel that 
opened into the kitchen, and called to the old maid- 
servant to get breakfast for three; then sitting 
down at his simple desk, he wrote down for Wally 
the names of a few peasants whom he knew to be 
worthy people. 

“See, here is a whole list of honest men and 
women in the Oetz and Gurgler valleys,” said he 
to Wally. “Try to find a place with one of them; 
over the mountain nothing will be yet known of 
your fault, and by the time people hear of it you 
can have shown yourself to be an honest girl, so 
that they will be willing to shut their eyes to it. 
You must not appeal to me, but you are as tall 
and as strong as a man, and they will gladly take 
you; you can work with a will and make yourself 
useful, if you choose. But you must learn to obey 
— must give in to custom and order, else you will 
do no good. I do not ask you to go back to your 
father, and let yourself be locked up in the cellar; 
that would be undue punishment, and do you more 
harm than good. Nor do I ask you to marry Vin- 


io8 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


cenz out of obedience to your father and make 
yourself miserable for life. But I do ask of you 
that you should curb your wild spirit in the service 
of worthy people, in reasonable and regular activity, 
and so become again a useful member of human 
society. Will you promise me this?” 

“I will try,” said Wally, in her unwavering 
honesty. 

“That is all I ask of you in the first instance, 
for I know well that you cannot with a good con- 
science promise more. But try to do it with an 
honest will, and remember always that God throws 
away wood that is too hard. I will go to-day to your 
father and speak to his conscience, that he may 
forgive you and be reconciled to you, or at least 
not pursue you any farther. Give me news soon 
of where you are, that I may let you know how 
things stand.” 

Marianne brought the breakfast, and the pastor 
said the morning prayers. Wally, too, devoutly 
folded her hands, and from her deepest soul prayed 
God that he would help her to become good and 
useful; she was in such holy earnest — she would so 
gladly have been good and useful, if only she had 
known how. 

When prayers were over, all three sat down, she, 
and the pastor, and Marianne to breakfast. But 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. I09 

scarcely had they begun when a shout was heard 
outside. “A vulture! See, up on the roof there, 
a vulture! shoot him down, bring guns!” 

“Heavens! my Hansl,” cried Wally springing 
up, and would have run out at the door. 

“Stop,” cried the priest, “what are you doing? 
Why risk yourself needlessly? You cannot go out 
now, when at any moment your father’s people may 
come to take you!” 

“HI not leave my Hansl in the lurch, come 
what may,” cried Wally, and with one spring she 
stood outside the house. 

The cure followed her, shaking his head. “The 
vulture is tame,” she cried to the people. “He be- 
longs to me; leave him alone.” 

“One can’t leave a creature like that to fly about 
as it will,” said the people, grumbling. 

“Has he taken a sheep or a child?” asked 
Wally defiantly. 

“No.” 

“Well, then, leave me and my bird unmolested!” 
said the girl; and she stood there with an air so 
proud and threatening that the people looked at her 
with astonishment. “Wally, Wally,” gently warned 
the priest, “think of the hard wood.” 

“I do think, your reverence!” she said, and 
beckoned with her hand to the vulture. “Hansl, 


I IO 


THE VXJLTURE-MAIDEN. 


come back.” The bird shot down from the roof, so 
that the people all shrank back frightened. She 
took him on her shoulder, and stepped up to the 
priest. “God keep your reverence,” she said gently, 
“and thank you for all your kindness.” 

“Will you not come in and finish breakfast?” 
said the old man. 

“No, I’ll not leave the bird alone again, and 
besides I must go on — what have I to stay for?” 

“May God and all the Saints preserve thee, 
then!” said the pastor troubled, while Marianne was 
furtively thrusting some food into the pocket of her 
pleated gown. 

For a moment her foot lingered on the threshold 
that had grown dear to her, then she silently stepped 
forward between the people, who made way for her. 

“Who is she?” they asked each other. 

“She is a witch!” she heard them whisper be- 
hind her. 

“She is a stranger,” said the priest, “who came 
to make her confession to me.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


I I I 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Klotz Family of Rofen. 

Day after day Wally wandered round the canton 
seeking a place, but no one would take her with 
her vulture, and from him she would not part. Even 
if she had abandoned him, he would have flown 
back to her again, and as to killing the faithful 
bird, such a thought could not enter her mind, let 
what might befal her. Now, in very truth, she was 
the Vulture-maiden, for her destiny was inseparably 
linked to that of the bird, and he had as much in- 
fluence over it as a human being. Luckard’s old 
cousin, to whom she once paid a passing visit, 
would have taken her in gladly, but she would have 
been too near home, and wholly in her father’s 
power. She must go farther — as far as her feet 
would carry her. Every day the season grew more 
severe; it began to snow, and the nights, which 
Wally was often forced to spend in an open barn, 
were keenly cold. The clothes she wore grew old 
and shabby, she began to look like a beggar and a 
vagabond, and she was every day more summarily 
dismissed from the doors where she ventured to 


12 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


knock with her companion. She looked so strange 
that no good housewife now would let her work 
in the house for even a few hours, and eat at her 
table afterwards. They gave her a piece of bread 
at the door for “God’s pity’s sake;” and Wally, the 
haughty Wally, daughter of the Strommingers, sat 
down on the threshold and eat it. For she would 
not die! Life — tormented, baited, poor and naked 
— life was still fair to her, so long as she could hope 
that sooner or later Joseph might come to love her; 
for the sake of that hope she would bear every- 
thing — hunger, cold, weariness. But her frame, 
hitherto so powerful, began to fail under the con- 
stant consuming anxiety and tension, her eyes were 
dim, her feet refused to serve her, and as soon as 
she lay down quietly her thoughts whirled in her 
brain, and she fell into a feverish dose. With 
overwhelming dread she met the feeling that she 
might be going to fall ill. It was too much! If 
she were to lose consciousness in some barn or shed, 
she might be taken back to her father, she would 
find herself once more in his power. She had 
wandered up into the Gurgler valley, and as she 
had there found nothing to do, she had taken the 
weary road again over to the Oetz valley; she had 
been as far as Vent, which lying in the domain of 
her father Murzoll, seemed to her almost like a 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


I 13 

home. But there things had gone worse than 
ever with her; the ruder the place, the ruder the 
inhabitants, and when Wally arrived there, she 
found that the news of her deed had hastened to 
precede her, and that wherever she showed herself 
she was met with horror and aversion. She did 
not appeal to the cure of Heiligkreuz; he had de- 
sired her not, and she perceived that he had been 
right to do so; but for that reason she sought no 
more priests; not one of them would dare to take 
any interest in her. 

The last door in Vent had just been closed 
upon her. Before her lay nothing but the cloud- 
reaching wall of the Platteykogel, the Wildspitz, and 
the Hochvernagtferner, which closed in the valley, 
and over which no pathway led. Here on all sides 
the world was shut in like a cul-de-sac , and she was 
at the end of it; she stood still and looked up and 
around at the steep and towering walls. It was a 
grey morning; thick snow had fallen during the 
night and lay all over the valley, which looked like 
a prodigious trough of snow; every trace of a path 
was obliterated. She sat down and thought, “If I 
go to sleep, and am frozen, it is an easy death.” 
But it was not yet cold enough for that; the snow- 
melted under her, and she was soon shivering from 
the wet. Then she started up and dragged herself 

8 


The Vulture-Maiden. 


H4 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


up the slope that leads up behind Vent to the 
Hochjoch; from thence she could look over all the 
surrounding country, and here she became aware 
of a sort of furrow in the snow that led behind the 
village along by the Thalleitspitz into the very heart 
of the Ferner. It might be a footpath — but whither 
did it lead? She went up higher to get a wider 
view, and a bandage seemed to fall from her eyes 
— that was the path that led from Vent to Rofen — 
Rofen, the highest inhabited spot in the whole 
Tyrol, the last in the Oetz valley where men, like 
eagles, can still dwell, and of them only two 
families, the Klotz family and the Gestreins; Rofen 
that lies silent and hidden at the foot of the terrible 
Vernagt-glacier, on the shore of the lake of ice where 
no straying foot wanders from year’s end to year’s 
end, which a venerable tradition wraps in a mysterious 
veil. This was the place that Wally must strive to 
reach, this was the last refuge where she might per- 
haps find help, or at least could die in peace and 
unseen, like the wild animal of the desert. Thither 
would she go — to the Klotze of Rofen; they were the 
most renowned guides in all the Tyrol, they were at 
home on the mountains as the mountain-spirits 
themselves; they would understand how Wally would 
sooner burn down a house, would sooner die, than 
let herself be deprived of the breath of freedom; 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 1 5 

and they could protect her against all the world, 
for the farms of Rofen had right of sanctuary. 
Duke Frederick had granted it in token of gratitude, 
because he once in sore distress had found refuge 
there from his enemies. Joseph the Second had 
indeed withdrawn it at the end of the last century, 
but the peasant clings to old usages, and the villagers 
of the Oetz valley willingly continued to hold it in 
honour. No one who sought and found asylum at 
Rofen could be touched; for the Rofeners — the 
Klotze and the Gestreins — harboured no one who 
did not deserve it, and were held in as great respect 
as their forefathers. An assault on their home-right 
would have been simply a sacrilege. 

Wally lifted her arms to Heaven in passionate 
thankfulness to God who had shown her this path. 
Her head swimming, her feet stumbling, she strove 
for the last goal that her strength might yet avail 
to reach; first, downwards to the path that led from 
Vent, then again steeply upwards. For an endless 
hour she mounted the encumbered path; there they 
lay before her as if sleeping in the snow, the peace- 
ful, honoured farms of Rofen, which she had so 
often seen from Murzoll looking like eagles’ nests 
clinging to the cliff. Her heart beat so that she 
could hear it, her knees almost failed her; if she 
were to be turned away, even here! A fresh storm 

8 * 


I I 6 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

of snow whirled silently around her, and wrapped 
the whole- scene in a white, shifting veil. It flitted 
and glanced before her eyes, and the white veil 
waved coldly about her head, but it melted on her 
fevered brow and flowed in drops down her face 
and hair, and she trembled again with- the chill. 
At last she stood before the door of Nicodemus 
Klotz, and took hold of the iron knocker; but as 
she put out her hand, a strange light flashed before 
her eyes, she fell heavily against the door, then sank 
down in a heap on the ground. 

On and on the white flakes drifted up the nar- 
row valley and wrapped it in a shrouding veil, and 
heaped themselves before the well-closed door of 
Nicodemus Klotz over the stiffened body that lay 
there, till it was a peaceful white hillock. 

Nicodemus Klotz sat on his warm bench by 
the stove, smoked his pipe, and looked comfortably 
out of window at the snow. So the peaceful half- 
hours passed by, whilst his brother Leander, a 
fine-looking hunter, read the weekly news out of 
a shabby paper. “It is coming down finely,” said 
Nicodemus, blowing out a cloud of smoke. 

“Yes,” said Leander, looking up at the snow- 
flakes floating and swarming before the little win- 
dow. Suddenly in the midst of the white whirl a 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


117 

dark wing struck on the panes, something fluttered 
.and croaked, then flew up to the roof. 

“There is something there,” said Leander stand- 
ing up. 

“What matter?” growled the elder brother, 
“whatever it may have been, thou can’t go out in 
this storm.” 

“Why not?” said Leander taking his rifle from 
the wall; the wing-stroke of the passing bird had 
roused his hunter’s instincts; he must see what it 
was. He went to the door and opened it cautiously, 
so as not to disturb the bird by any noise. A mass 
of snow fell inwards, and he perceived the heap 
that had piled itself up on the threshold. He could 
not get out; he must fetch a spade to clear away 
the wall, and impatiently putting aside his gun, he 
began to shovel. 

“Heavens! what is this?” he cried out suddenly, 
“Nicodemus, come — quick — here is some one buried 
under the snow — help me!” 

His brother hastened forward; in a moment the 
heap was dug into, and a beautiful rounded arm 
appeared , and then from beneath the light covering, 
they drew forth a lifeless body. 

“Good God! a maiden — and what a maiden!” 
whispered Leander as the beautiful head and the 
finely-moulded form revealed themselves, 


I 1 8 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“How can she have wandered up here?” said 
Nicodemus, shaking his head as he lifted, not with- 
out effort, the heavy body out of the snow. 

“Is she dead?” asked Leander touching her, 
while his eyes rested with mingled alarm and plea- 
sure on the pale, sunburnt face. 

“She must instantly be rubbed,” ordered Nico- 
demus, “inside, in the bedroom there.” 

They carried the weighty burthen into the house 
and laid it on Nicodemus’ bed. “She must have 
lain a good half-hour out there; it must be about 
that time since I heard a heavy blow against the 
door, but I thought it was a lump of snow fallen 
from the roof.” 

Leander fetched a tub full of snow, and offici- 
ously tried to help in pulling off the girl’s garments. 
“Let be,” said the older and more discreet man, “that 
will not do — a youngster like thee; the girl’d be 
ashamed if she knew it. Do thou go out and see if 
thou can bring down one of the Gestreins, Kathrine 
or Marianne. Go ! ” 

Leander could not take his eyes from the life- 
less form. “Such a beautiful maid!” he muttered 
compassionately as he went out. 

With gentle care the experienced man now un- 
dressed the girl, and rubbed her hard with the snow 
till warmth revived in her skin, and the blood began 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. J I 9 

to circulate again. Then he dried her well, covered 
her up carefully, and poured a few drops of a 
strong cordial extracted from herbs down her throat. 
At last she recovered consciousness, turned and 
stretched herself, and looked once round the room ; 
but her eyes were glazed and vacant, and muttering 
a few unintelligible words, she closed them again. 

“She is ill,” said Nicodemus to Leander, who 
at this moment reappeared, whilst a sturdy peasant 
woman who stopped at the door to shake off the 
snow followed him. 

“Marianne,” said Nicodemus — she was his mar- 
ried sister, “thou must help us here. Two men 
like Leander and me can’t look after the girl. 
There is Leander making eyes at her already.” 

He threw a dissatisfied glance at the young man, 
who was again standing by the head of the bed 
and seemed to devour with his eyes the face of the 
sick girl; but he turned away hastily and blushed 
at being found out. 

Marianne went up to the bed, and her first 
question was: “Who can she be?” 

“God only knows! Some vagabond,” said Nico- 
demus. 

“What should make thee say that?” growled 
Leander, “one can see plainly enough she’s no 
vagabond.” 


120 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Ay, because she’s a handsome girl and pleases 
thee,” said Marianne; “there’s many a fair face 
covers a blackened soul — good looks prove nothing; 
a decent girl doesn’t wander round the country at 
this time of year, all alone in the snow till she 
falls in a heap. Likely enough she’s in some scrape, 
and God knows what sort she may be to harbour 
in the house.” 

“Well, it’s all one now,” said Nicodemus good- 
naturedly, “we can’t turn a sick girl out in the cold 
and snow, be she what she may.” 

“As you will,” said the woman, “I’ll come over 
here and welcome, to take care of her for you; 
but I won’t take her into my house, and that you 
may know once for all.” 

“No one asked thee; we will keep her our- 
selves,” said Leander irritated, and as Wally again 
muttered some words to herself, he leaned tenderly 
over her and asked, “What is it? What dost thou 
want?” 

The elder brother and sister exchanged glances. 
“As for thee,” said Nicodemus, “I have something 
to say to thee. Thou’s willing enough and ready 
to open house and home before we know who this 
woman is. There stands the door; — now walk out 
and come in here no more unless thou’d like to see 
me turn out the girl, ill as she is. Dost understand?” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


I 2 I 


“What, one mayn’t even look at a girl now,” 
grumbled Leander, “I see no reason why thee should 
come in before me.” 

“Thou’st nought to do but to go out; I’ll 
allow none of this so long as I am master of the 
house and eldest brother to thee.” So saying Nico- 
demus took him by the arm and pushed him out, 
and remained himself alone with his sister by the 
sick girl. 

Wally did not recover consciousness, she lay in 
a fever; her throat was swelled, her limbs stiff and 
aching. The brother and sister soon saw that the 
stranger must have suffered terribly from cold and 
over-fatigue, and they tended her to the best of 
their powers. Leander meanwhile wandered idly 
and restlessly through the house, and as often as 
one of them came out of the sick room he was in 
the way to enquire how things were going on. He 
was full of grief and vexation; he also would so 
willingly have tended the beautiful girl. Towards 
evening it ceased snowing, and he took his rifle and 
went out. But he had scarcely been away a minute 
when he came back again and called Nicodemus 
from the sick room. “Look here,” he said, much 
excited, “there is a vulture on the roof, a splendid 
golden vulture, and he looks at me quite quietly 
and confidingly, as though he belonged there.” 


22 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Ah!” said Nicodemus, “that is singular.” 

“Only come and see,” said Leander, and drew 
his brother out, in front of the house. “There — there 
he sits and never moves. A state prize, and I can’t 
shoot him! The devil take it all!” 

“Why can’t thou shoot him?” asked Nicodemus. 

“How can I fire now, with the sick girl lying in- 
doors?” said Leander, stamping his foot. 

“Drive him away,” advised Nicodemus, “and 
then thou can follow him and shoot him further off 
where she cannot hear.” 

“Tsch, tsch,” said Leander, throwing up balls 
of snow to scare off the bird. The vulture ruffled 
his feathers, screamed, and at last rose. But he did 
not fly away, he floated for a minute high in the 
air, and then quietly let himself down on to the 
roof again. 

“That is strange, he won’t go away; it’s just as 
if he were tame.” 

Once, twice more they tried to drive it off — 
always with the same result. 

“He’s bewitched,” said Leander, making the 
sign of the cross; but it did not seem to trouble 
the bird — so it was certain the devil could have 
nothing to do with it! 

“It seems to me that he’s been shot already, 
and cannot fly,” said Nicodemus, “any way let him 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. I 23 

be in peace till he comes down of himself, if thou 
doesn’t wish to frighten the girl with the crack of 
the rifle.” 

“He’s half down already; I believe I might 
take him with my hand,” said Leander. He fetched 
a ladder, laid it against the wall and cautiously 
ascended. The bird quietly let him approach; he 
drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and would 
have thrown it over the vulture’s head, but the bird 
struck and pecked at him so violently, that he was 
obliged to beat a hasty retreat. 

Nicodemus laughed. “There, he’s shown thee 
how to catch a vulture with the hand. I could 
have told thee as much as that.” 

“I never saw such a bird in my life,” said 
Leander grumbling, and shaking his head, “Wait 
a bit,” he added, threatening his foe above, “only 
wait till I find thee somewhere else.” 

“Thou can hunt him to-morrow if he’s not 
perished in the night. If he can fly, he’ll go farther 
away, and hardly come so far as this again.” 

It was getting dark now, and Marianne came 
out to say she must go home and cook her hus- 
band’s supper. The brothers went in, and Nico- 
demus also went to prepare supper, by fetching 
bread and cheese from the store room. While he 
was gone, Leander softly opened the door that led 


124 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


from the living room into the bedroom and peeped 
through the crack at Wally. She lay still now, 
and slept soundly. It was so long since she had 
lain in any bed, that it could be seen even in her 
sleep how comfortable she found it; she lay re- 
clining so softly, so easily amongst the pillows. 
“God help thee, thou poor soul, God help thee!” 
whispered Leander to her through the opening, 
then hastily closed the door again, for he heard 
Nicodemus coming. He was sitting quite inno- 
cently on the bench by the stove when his brother 
came in with the food. 

“To-night,” said Nicodemus, “we shall do well 
enough; as Benedict is not here, I can sleep upstairs 
in his bed, but to-morrow night, when he’s back 
again, we three must divide the two beds between us.” 

“Oh, I need no bed,” said Leander hastily. 
“For the sake of her in there, I’d as soon sleep on 
the bench here, or in the hay-loft; it is all one to 
me. If any of us is to be put out for her, it shall 
be me, and no one else.” 

“Well, if it pleases thee, thou can have it so. 
But in the hay-loft, not on the bench; that is too 
near the sick-room — dost understand?” 

“Ay, ay, I understand well enough,” muttered 
Leander, and bit into his cheese as if it were a 
sour apple. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 25 

The bedroom of the two younger brothers was 
exactly opposite that of Nicodemus, who took the 
bed of the absent Benedict. Two or three times 
in the night he got up, and went to listen at 
Wally’s door; she talked and wandered a good deal, 
and once Nicodemus could clearly understand that 
she was speaking of a vulture. “Ah,” thought he, 
“she too will have seen the vulture when she 
came up, and the fright comes back to her in her 
dreams.” 

Early in the morning, before breakfast even, 
the restless Leander was up and out; he did not 
come home till nearly mid-day. 

“Well, how is she getting on?” he asked as he 
came in. 

“Just the same; she doesn’t come to herself at 
all, and she’s always in dread of people who, she 
thinks, want to take her away.” 

Leander scratched his head behind his ear. 
“Then I can’t shoot yet. Only think now — there’s 
the vulture outside still sitting on the roof.” 

“Never!” 

“Ay, when I went out this morning, I couldn’t 
see him anywhere; then I thought, he’s flown away, 
and I went after him for nearly three hours. Then 
when I get home, there he is, sitting quietly on the 
roof again.” 


126 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Well,” said Nicodemus, “that’s a thing that 
might make one really uneasy, if one happened to 
be superstitious.” 

“Ay, indeed. One might almost think of the 
phantom maidens of Murzoll, and that they meant 
to play me a rogue’s trick.” 

“God be praised!” said a rough deep voice, and 
Benedict the second brother, who had been away 
on a journey, now walked in. 

“Ay, God be praised thou’rt back again,” cried 
his brothers together. “What’s the news? What’s 
thou been doing?” 

“Oh, nothing much; they’ve only sent me from 
Herod to Pilate again down in the Court-house, and 
crammed me with half-promises. I only know that 
all Oetzthal, man and beast of all three genders, 
may break neck and limb over the road here before 
we get the path.” The speaker threw off his knap- 
sack discontentedly and seated himself on the bench 
by the stove. “Is there anything to eat?” he said. 

“Directly,” said Nicodemus, who did the cook- 
ing himself, and he fetched in the soup. 

He also brought a bowl of milk, and took it 
in to the sick girl; Leander’s eye followed him 
enviously. Benedict was hungry and fell to on the 
soup without observing what his brother had done: 
Nicodemus soon returned, and silently, like all 


TEE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


127 


peasants, who seem to fear when performing the 
solemn act of eating that they will get out of time 
if they speak, the three spooned up the soup in a 
measured rhythmical movement, so that neither of 
them should get more nor less than his share. 

When they had eaten, the weary Benedict 
lighted his pipe and stretched himself comfortably 
on the bench. 

“What’s the news in the world? Tell us all 
about it,” said Leander, who knew his brother’s 
habit of silence. Benedict had stuck his pipe aslant 
in his mouth and yawned. “I know of nought,” 
he said. After a time, however, he went on: “Rich 
Stromminger of Sonnenplatte, his daughter, the Vul- 
ture-maiden, you know — she set her father’s place 
on fire, and is running now about the country 
begging.” 

“Ah, when did that happen?” asked the brothers 
astonished. 

“She must be a real bad girl that,” continued 
Benedict. “Her father had sent her up to the 
Hochjoch before this, because she wouldn’t do his 
bidding, and when she comes down, the first thing 
is that she half kills Gellner, and sets her father’s 
house on fire.” 

“Jesu Maria!” 

“After that she naturally ran away, and is now 


128 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


wandering about the neighbourhood. Yesterday 
she was in Vent, and trying to get a place, but 

who would have such a girl in the house? To 

add to it all, she drags the big vulture about with 

her that she took from the nest, and expects folk 

to take that in too. Naturally every one refuses.” 

Nicodemus looked at Leander, and Leander 
grew crimson. 

“Well! — ” said Nicodemus, “now I know who’s 
lying in there! — The vulture that won’t leave the 
roof — and all night she was raving about a vulture 
— that’s not so bad — we’ve the Vulture-maiden in 
the house!” 

Benedict sprang up. “What!” he cried. 

“Don’t cry out so loud,” said Leander, “dost 
want the poor sick girl to hear it all?” 

Then Nicodemus related how Leander had found 
her half dead in the snow, and how they could not 
do otherwise than keep her in the house, at least 
till she was able to walk. But Benedict was a rough 
man, and thought the illness was only a pretence 
— that his brothers had been too soft and should 
have sent her away. He would soon have got 
the better of her. “For incendiaries he had no 
sanctuary,” he cried, and his piercing eyes glanced 
wrathfully under his bushy brows. 

“If thou’d seen the maid, thou’d have taken her 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


129 

in too/’ said Leander, “It’d have been less than human 
to turn the poor thing out in the wind and weather.” 

“Indeed? And in that way we should get at 
last every robber and murderer in the neighbour- 
hood in asylum here, till it is said that Rofen is a 
hiding-place for all the rabble — that’d be a fine 
thing for the justices to get hold of. If you two 
can be taken in by a cunning chit, I at least must 
maintain order and decency in Rofen!” 

He approached the door. Nicodemus stood be- 
fore it and said quietly, but firmly, “Benedict, I am 
the eldest, and I’m master in Rofen as much as 
thou, and I know as well as thou what is our duty 
as Rofeners. I give thee my word I will keep the 
girl no longer in the house than I must for human 
and Christian duty; but now she is sick, and I will 
not suffer thee to ill-use her. So long as I live at 
Rofen I’ll have no injustice done under my roof.” 

Then Leander broke in. “Look here,” he said 
confidently and with flashing eyes; “only let him go 
in — when he sees her, he’ll never send her away.” 

“I believe thou’rt right, thou simpleton,” said 
Nicodemus smiling, and he softly opened the door. 

Benedict hastily and noisily entered; this time 
Leander ventured to slip in also, and Nicodemus 
had nothing to say against it; he might help to 
watch over the harsh Benedict and keep him 

9 


The Vulture-Maiden. 


130 THE VULTURE- MAIDEN. 

from being too rough. Marianne was sitting by the 
bed making new stockings for the sick girl, for she 
had become so ragged that she would have had none 
to wear when she could get up again. At Benedict’s 
noisy entrance she made a sign that he should be 
quiet; but scarcely had he perceived the sick girl, 
when of himself he hushed his footsteps, and went 
slowly up to the bed. Wallburga was fast asleep. 
She lay on her back, and had thrown one beautiful 
rounded arm over her head; her abundant dark- 
brown hair fell loosely over the snow-white neck 
that no sunshine could tan through her thick 
peasant’s bodice, and which her loose linen chemise 
now left partly uncovered; her mouth was half- 
open as though smiling, and two rows of pearly 
teeth shone between the arched lips; on the sleep- 
ing brow lay an unspoken expression of nobility 
and purity that no words can describe. Benedict 
had grown quite still. He gazed long at the 
touching and yet innocent picture as if astonished, 
and his brown face began gradually to redden — like 
Leander’s, which seemed dyed in a 'crimson glow. 
Then he ground his teeth together and turned 
round. “Aye, she is certainly ill,” he said in a 
voice which implied, “There is nothing to be done,” 
and he went out of the room on tiptoe. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


1 31 


CHAPTER IX. 

In the Wilderness. 

Once again spring-breezes blew across the land. 
The melting snows flowed down in rushing moun- 
tain-torrents; timidly, half-suspiciously the first Alpine 
plants peeped out, as though to ask the sunshine if 
it were indeed in earnest, and they might venture 
forth a little further. Here and there isolated 
patches of snow still lay like forgotten linen sheets. 
In the evergreen pine and fir-woods, the birds 
lifted their wings, held twittering consultations, and 
attuned their little throats to the universal song of 
rejoicing. 

From the Ferner mountains avalanches came 
thundering down into the valleys, and beneath the 
terrible, moving masses, walls and rafters, trees and 
bushes, crashed together. There was a thronging 
and wrestling, a thundering and rustling — there were 
threats and allurements, fears and hopes, in the heights 
and in the valleys, and man also, ever-venturesome, 
ever-inquisitive man, arose from his long winter’s 
rest, stretched forth his feelers, and began to grope 

9 * 


132 THE VULTURE- MAIDEN. 

about the mountains with his alpenstock for some 
foothold in the loose and shifting snow. 

Only Rofen yet lay in the shadow of its narrow, 
heaven-high walls, hidden like a late sleeper be- 
neath its white coverlet. Before the door of the 
Rofen farm stood Leander, feeding Hansl with a 
big mouse that he had caught for him. Hansl had 
been Leander’s pet from the hour when it came out 
that he belonged to Wally, and the bird was well 
cared for among the Rofeners. 

Benedict came towards the house with his moun- 
tain pole. He had been reconnoitring the path 
to Murzoll, and had more than once hovered be- 
tween life and death. His glance was unsteady, his 
whole appearance agitated and gloomy. 

“Well?” asked Leander in anxious suspense. 

“The road is passable at need. If I guide her, 
she can risk it.” 

“Nay, Benedict, don’t thee do that, don’t let her 
go up there — I pray thee, don’t.” 

“What she will — she will,” said Benedict gloomily. 

“Tell her the mountain’s not safe, then she’ll 
remain of herself.” . 

“Where’s the good of lying? She’ll not change 
her mind however long she stays here, and thou hast 
nothing to hope, I’ve told thee that often enough. 
An unfledged stripling like thee is not for a maid 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


133 


like Wally! Now keep thyself quiet.” He went into 
the house, and the tears sprang into Leander’s eyes 
with anger and pain. 

Wally came with the hayfork out of the stable 
towards Benedict. 

“Wally,” he said, “if it must be so, I’ll lead thee 
up there, I’ve found out the way; but it is still 
dangerous.” 

“Thank thee kindly, Benedict,” said Wally, “to- 
morrow, then, we will go.” She hung up the hay- 
fork, and went into the kitchen. Benedict stamped 
with his foot, and set his alpenstock in the corner. 
For a while he stood reflecting, then he could keep 
quiet no longer — he followed her. 

Wally had tucked up her gown and was prepar- 
ing to wash the kitchen. 

“Wally, leave all that, I want to talk with thee.” 

“I cannot, Benedict, I must scour the kitchen. 
If I go away to-morrow, I must have the whole house 
clean. Til leave no dirt or disorder behind me.” 

“Thou’s always worked more by us than thou 
hast eaten or drunken. Let be now, the house is 
clean enough, and if thou goes away — all is one.” 
He chewed at a piece of wood, then spit out the 
bitten splinter. Wally saw the terrible state of ex- 
citement he was in, and left off her work that she 
might listen to him. 


134 


THE VULTURE -MAIDEN. 


“Wally,” he said, “consider once more whether 
thou’ll not have one of us. See now, thou’st no need 
to be so proud. There’s such a cry against thee, 
that it’s through great love only, that one can take 
thee at all.” 

Wally nodded her head in perfect agreement. 

“Now see, we Rofeners, we are people who may 
knock at every door, and there’s not a girl but 
would be glad to get one of us. Thou hast the 
choice between two of us brothers, and refusest 
such a piece of luck. See, Wally, thou may some 
day repent of it.” 

“Benedict, thou means well, and I care for thee 
and Leander as one can care for only one person, 
but not enough to marry you. And I’ll marry no 
one that I can’t love as a husband, and that thou 
may know that I mean it, I once saw one that I 
can never forget, and till I do forget him, I’ll take 
no other.” 

Benedict grew pale. 

“See, I tell thee that thou may be at peace, 
and no longer torment thyself with the thought of 
• me. Only believe, Benedict, I know well what thou 
hast done, thou and all of you for me. You saved 
me from death, you protected me when my father’d 
have taken me away by force, and it was really fine 
how thou defended me and thy rights. I’d be a 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


135 


ha,ppy girl if I could love thee and forget that other. 
I’m right thankful to thee, and if it could help 
thee, I’d give thee my life — but tell thyself, what 
would thee do with a wife who loves some one else? 
That were truly a bad return to a man like thee.” 

“Yes,” said Benedict hoarsely, and wiped his 
forehead. 

“And thou sees now, that I must go away, that 
things can’t go on as they are?” 

“Yes,” he said again, and left the kitchen. 

Wally looked after him as, full of emotion, he 
strode away, the brave and proud man who had 
offered her all, all that — as he himself had said in 
his uncouth fashion — would have made the happi- 
ness of any other girl. And she herself could not 
understand how it was that she could not care 
more for this man, who had done so much for her, 
than for the stranger who had never once given her 
a thought. And yet so it was! There was not one 
who could be compared with Joseph for power and 
excellence; she saw him always before her as when 
he had flung the bloody bear’s skin from his shoul- 
der and related how he had wrestled with the 
monster, whilst all stood around and admired him, 
the mighty, the beautiful, the only one! And then 
how he had conquered her father, the strong man 
who had always appeared to her hitherto so un- 


136 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

conquerable and terrible! And with what goodness 
and kindness he had spoken to him afterwards, in 
spite of her father's hostility! No, there was not 
one that could rise up and stand comparison with 
Joseph. 

She went back to her work. “If only Joseph 
knew all that I am giving up for his sake,” she 
thought as she looked out, and saw how in front of 
the window Benedict with a red face was talking 
to Leander, and how Leander wept. 

Old Stromminger had at first stormed against 
and cursed his unruly child, and not even the good 
pastor of Heiligkreuz had succeeded in pacifying 
him. When it was at length rumoured that Wally 
kept herself hidden at Rofen, he sent people to 
fetch her away. But on their own ground and 
territory it was easy for no one to move the 
“Klotze of Rofen,” and they defended like knights 
the sacred rights and freedom of the Rofeners. 
When Wally however perceived that a passion 
for her had taken possession of the brothers, then 
she made a confidant of the quiet and prudent Ni- 
codemus, and he understood what was needful to 
be done. He went to Stromminger, and his wise 
eloquence was so far successful that the old man 
at last gave up the idea of imprisoning Wally, and 
contented himself with banishing her for ever from 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


137 


his sight. In the summer she should tend the flocks 
again upon Murzoll, “because that is the only way 
in which one can make any use of her.” In the 
winter she might seek service wherever she liked — 
only she was not to venture to come back to her 
home. 

When Nicodemus returned with this answer, 
Wally insisted upon going that moment to await the 
flocks upon the Ferner, and only Nicodemus’ firm 
decision prevailed upon her to wait at least till 
Benedict should have examined whether the moun- 
tain road were passable. 

So the hour came when Wally must once more 
fly before the winds of spring on to the mountains, 
into the desert. It was hard to part with the 
brothers, and with good Marianne. They had be- 
come dear to her, these worthy people, who had 
come so readily to her help. 

Benedict went up the mountain with her; he 
would not let himself be deprived of that. “Thou’st 
been entrusted to us, we will at least hand thee 
back again with a whole skin. Whatever may hap- 
pen to thee then, we can, alas! do nought to 
hinder.” 

It was a fearful road up which they had to make 
their way in the midst of the wild confusion wrought 
by the spring, and Benedict, acknowledged far and 


1 38 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


wide to be the best and surest of guides, said him- 
self he had never seen so bad a mountain-path. 
They spoke little, for they were engaged in a con- 
stant, breathless struggle for life, and could look 
neither to the right nor to the left. It was hard 
work. At length, after fighting half the day with 
snow and ice and crevasses, they found themselves 
on the summit. The old hut still stood there, some- 
what more ruinous than before, and a heavy weight 
of snow lay on the roof and all around it. 

“There thou means to house thyself — there! 
Sooner than become an honoured wife and lead 
with us down yonder a respected and home-sheltered 
life as a peasant of Rofen?” 

“I can do no other, Benedict,” said Wally gently, 
and looked with sad eyes at the snow-covered in- 
hospitable hut. “I believe the mountain spirits have 
thrown a spell upon me, so that I must needs come 
back to them, and never more feel myself at home 
in the valleys.” 

“One might almost believe it! There’s some- 
thing strange about thee. Thou’s quite different 
from other maids, so that one loves thee in quite 
a different way — much, much more dearly, and yet 
as if thou didn’t belong to us, as if an evil spirit 
drove thee round.” 

He threw down the bundle of provisions that he 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


39 


had brought up with him for Wally, and began re- 
moving the snow from the door of the hut that she 
might be able to get into it. 

“Benedict,” said Wally softly, as though she 
could be overheard, “dost thou believe in the 
phantom maidens?” 

Benedict looked down meditatively and shrugged 
his shoulders. “What can one say? I’ve never seen 
any myself — but there are people who’d hold to it 
to their last breath.” 

“I’d never believed in them — but when I came 
up here last year, I had a dream so lifelike, I could 
almost believe it was no dream, and since then, 
whatever happens to me, I can’t help thinking of 
the phantom-maidens. 

“What sort of a dream?” 

“Thou must know that him whom I love is 
a chamois-hunter, and it was because of him my 
father sent me up last year, and the first hour 
I was here I dreamt that the phantom-maidens and 
Murzoll threatened me that if I wouldn’t leave off 
thinking of the lad, they’d fling me down into the 
abyss!” And she related her whole dream in detail 
to Benedict. He shook his head, and became quite 
melancholy. “Wally, in thy place, I should be 
afraid.” 

She threw her head back. “Ah well. Thou goes 


140 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


on shooting the chamois, in spite of the phantom- 
maidens. One has only got not to be afraid. I’ve 
sprung over many a chasm since then, and I’ve felt 
well enough that there was somewhat that wished 
to pull me down, but I held myself firm, and kept 
the upper hand.” 

She raised her strong brown arm defiantly. “So 
long as I’ve got two arms, I’ve no need to fear 
whatever it may be.” 

This did not please Benedict. In his solitary 
wanderings over the terrible Similaun and the wild 
glacier peaks, he had acquired a taste for subtle 
meditations and reflected more deeply on many 
things than other people. “Take care, Wally! He 
who sets himself too high thrusts his head up easily 
enough, but that’s what those up yonder won’t en- 
dure, and they thrust him down again.” 

She was silent. 

“It’s too early for thee to be up here — ” he 
began again, “no one could stand it.” 

“Oh, it was worse still when I was up here 
last autumn,” said Wally, as she went into the 
hut. 

“Who won’t be advised, can’t be helped. But 
if he doesn’t some time recompense thee for all 
thou’rt going through for him, he deserves to be 
dragged round by the collar.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


141 

“If \ he knew of it, for sure he’d recompense 
me,” said Wally reddening and looking down. 

“He doesn’t know of it?” asked Benedict 
astonished. 

“No, he scarcely knows me.” 

“Now may God forgive thee that thou should 
so set thy heart on a strange man, and them, them 
who love thee, and have cherished thee and tended 
thee, them thou pushes from thee. That is no love 
— that is mere obstinacy.” 

Wally was silent, and Benedict also said no 
more. He did now as old Klettenmaier had done 
the year before. He set the hut in order as well 
as he could for Wally, and brought her a store of 
wood. Then he held out his hand to her in fare- 
well. “May God guard thee up here! And if I 
might say one more word to thee, it would be this: 
Watch over thyself, and pray that no evil powers 
may get the better of thee!” 

Wally’s heart contracted as his eyes full of deep 
sadness rested on her. It seemed to her as though 
in truth she felt the evil powers hovering round 
her, and almost unconsciously she held the hand of 
her protector who had watched over her so faith- 
fully, and accompanied him part of the way back, 
as though she feared to remain alone. 

“Now then — here the path becomes bad; I thank 


142 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


thee for coming so far,” said Benedict, and parted 
from her. 

“Farewell, and a safe journey home,” cried Wally 
after him. 

He looked round no more. She turned back 
to the hut, and was once more alone with her vul- 
ture and her mountain spirits. But the spirits 
seemed appeased. Murzoll smiled kindly in the 
glow of the spring sunshine upon the returned 
child, and Wally no longer felt herself a stranger in 
the midst of her mighty and sublime surroundings. 
Each fold on MurzolFs brow was familiar to her 
now; she knew his smile and his frown, and it no 
longer frightened her when sullen clouds beset his 
brow, or when he rolled down avalanches into the 
abyss. She felt herself secure on his harsh breast, 
and the breath of his storms blew away from her 
heart the weight that she had brought up with her 
again from the valley. For a healing power lies in 
the storm; it cools the blood, it bears the soul on 
its rushing wings far away over the stones and thorns 
amongst which it would flutter, painfully entangled. 
As when a child has hurt itself and cries, we breathe 
on the place, saying, “It will soon be well,” and 
the child smiles back to us again, so Father 
Murzoll blew away from the heart of his returned 
child the dull pain that oppressed it, and she looked 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


14 3 


with shining eyes and an uplifted heart out into the 
wide world — and hoped and waited. 

So weeks and months passed by. The July sun 
shone with such power that the mountain was al- 
ready completely “ausgeapert”; that is to say, the 
lighter winter snow was all melted away to the 
limits of the eternal snows where Wally dwelt. Now 
and then one of the Rofener brothers came up to 
enquire whether she had not yet changed her mind. 
But they came but seldom, and interrupted Wally’s 
solitude by a few short half-hours only. 

One day the sun’s rays “pricked” with such 
sharp, unusual heat, that Wally felt as though she 
were passing between glowing needles. When the 
sun “pricks,” it draws the clouds together, and 
soon, somewhere about midday, it had gathered 
about itself a thick tent of clouds behind which 
it disappeared, and a leaden twilight was spread 
heavily over the earth. A strange disquietude seized 
the little flock; now and then a quivering bright- 
ness shuddered through the grey cloud-chaos, as a 
sleeper’s eyelashes quiver in dreams, and gigantic 
black mourning clouds waved about Murzoll’s head. 
Now and again they were rent asunder, affording 
faint glimpses into the clear distance, but instantly 
across these thin places new veils were woven till 


144 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


all was closed, and no empty space, as it seemed, 
left between earth and Heaven. 

Wally well knew what all this foreboded; she 
had already experienced plenty of bad weather up 
here on the mountains, and she drove the flock to- 
gether under a projecting rock, where she had her- 
self arranged a fold in case of need. But a young 
goat had wandered out of sight, and she was 
obliged to go and seek it. No storm had ever yet 
come on with such rapidity. Already hollow mutter- 
ings could be heard amongst the mountains, whilst 
the gusts of wind swept roaring onwards, flinging 
down isolated hailstones. Now it was a question 
of minutes only, and the kid was nowhere to be 
seen. Wally extinguished her hearth fire and step- 
ped out into the conflict of the elements, like an 
heroic queen amongst the hosts of her rebellious 
subjects. And queen-like indeed she looked, without 
knowing or caring anything about it. She had set 
a little copper milk-can upside down upon her head 
as a helmet to protect her from the hailstones, and 
a thick horse-cloth hung down like a mantle from 
her shoulders. Thus equipped, and a shepherd’s staff 
with its iron hook in her hand in the place of a lance, 
she threw herself out into the storm, and fought her 
way through it till she reached a point of rock from 
whence she could look out after the lost animal. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


145 


But it was impossible through the mists to dis- 
tinguish anything. Wally ascended higher and higher, 
till she had reached the path that leads over the 
Hochjoch into the Schnalser valley; and there, deep 
below in the ravine, the kid was clinging to the 
side of the steep precipice, trembling with fear and 
crouching beneath the blows of the heavy hailstones. 
The helpless animal moved her to pity — she must 
have compassion on it. The hail rattled down 
thicker and thicker around her, the wind and rain 
struck her like whips across the face, there was a 
heaving and swelling on every, side like the thunder- 
ing waves of an approaching deluge, but she paid no 
heed to it; the mute supplications of the distressed 
animal rose above the raging of the storm, and with- 
out a moment’s hesitation she let herself down into 
the misty depths. With infinite trouble she got 
far enough down the slippery path to lay hold 
of the animal with her crook and draw it towards 
her, theh throwing it over her shoulder, she climbed 
upwards again with hands and feet. Then, all at 
once, a stream of fire seemed to shoot from the 
zenith down into the gulf, a shivered fir-tree crashed 
beneath her in the depths, and in one universal 
roar of heaven and earth together there came a 
crackling from above, a rushing, a thundering of 
hurling streams and masses below, till to the soli- 

The Vulture- Maiden. 10 


146 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

tary pilgrim clinging to the quaking rock it seemed 
as though the whole world were whirling round her 
in wild dissolution. Half-stunned, she swung her- 
self up at last on to the firm edge of the pathway, 
then stood a moment to recover breath and wipe 
the moisture from her eyes, for she could hardly 
see, and the kid too struggled on her shoulder, 
so that she was obliged to bind it before carrying 
it any further. Meanwhile, thunder-clap after thun- 
der-clap crashed above her, beneath her, and as 
though heaven had been a leaking cask filled with 
fire, the lightning struck downwards in fiery streams. 
Hark! — what was that? — a human voice! A cry for 
help sounded clearly above the rushing and roaring. 
Wally who had not trembled at the fury of the 
thunder and the hurricane, trembled now. A human 
voice — now! — up here with her in this fearful tumult 
of nature, in this chaos! It terrified her more than 
the raging of the elements. She listened with sus- 
pended breath to hear whence the voice came, and 
whether she had not deceived herself. Again she 
heard the cry, and close behind her. “Hi, thou 
yonder — help me, then!” And out of the mists and 
rain emerged a figure that seemed to drag along a 
second form. Wally stood as though suddenly 
stiffened — what face was that? The burning eyes, 
the black moustache, the finely aquiline nose, she 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


147 


looked and looked and could not stir a limb for 
the sweet terror that had come upon her — it was 
indeed St. George, it was Joseph the bear-hunter. 

He himself was scarcely less startled than Wally 
when she turned round , but from another cause. 
“Jesu Maria — it's a girl,” he said almost timidly, 
and looked at Wally with astonishment. Seeing 
her from behind, he had thought from her height 
that she was a shepherd — now he saw a maiden 
before him. And as she stood there, her long 
mantle falling around her in stiff folds, her head 
protected by its warlike helmet against the hail, 
her dark hair, loosened and dripping, hanging about 
her face, the crook in her hand and the kid on her 
broad shoulders, her great eyes flaming and fastened 
upon him, he had a weird feeling for a moment, 
as though something supernatural stood before him. 
In his whole life before he had never seen so 
powerful a woman, and he had to pause for a 
minute before he could clearly make her out. 

“Ah,” he said, “thou’rt only old Stromminger’s 
Y ulture- W ally ? ” 

“Yes, that am I,” answered the girl breath- 
lessly. 

“So — well, precisely then with thee I have no- 
thing to do.” 

“Why not?” asked Wally, turning pale, and a 

10* 


148 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

flash of lightning quivered just over her, so that 
her copper helmet flashed red in the glare. 

Joseph was obliged to pause, so crashing was 
the thunder-clap that followed, and with new fury 
a shower of hail came rattling down. Joseph looked 
at ’the girl in perplexity as she stood there im- 
movable, whilst lumps of ice struck against the 
slight metal can on her head. Then he bent down 
over the lifeless form that he was carrying. 

“See here, ever since that affair in Solden I’ve 
been in disgrace with thy father, and people say 
that thou also art not one to have dealings with. 
But this poor maid can go no further; a flash of 
lightning struck close by her and threw her down, 
and she’s quite out of her senses. Go, lead us to 
thy hut, that the girl may rest till the storm is over 
— then we’ll leave again at once; and for certain, 
such a thing shall never happen again.” 

Wally looked strangely at him during this speech 
— half in defiance, half in pain. Her lips trembled 
as though she would have made some vehement 
answer, but she controlled herself, and after a short 
and silent struggle, “Come,” she said, and strode 
onwards before him. Presently she paused and 
asked, “Who is the maid?” 

“She’s a poor girl out of Vintschgau on her 
way to the Lamb in Zwieselstein. My mother is 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


149 


dead, and I’ve had to go over to IVintschgau, where 
her home was, to look after the inheritance, and 
as our roads lay together, I’ve brought the girl 
across the mountains with me,” answered Joseph 
evasively. 

“Thy mother is dead? Oh, thou poor Joseph — ” 
cried Wally full of sympathy. 

“Yes — it was a hard blow,” said Joseph in deep 
sadness, “the good little mother.” 

Wally saw that it pained him to speak of her, 
and was silent. They said no more till they reached 
the hut. 

“Here’s a horrible hole,” said Joseph stooping 
and yet knocking his head as he entered. “It’s 
not for nothing that a man sends his child off to 
live in a dog-kennel like this. Well, certainly 
thou’st done enough to deserve it.” 

“Ah! — thou’s sure of that?” said Wally, breaking 
out bitterly now as she untied the kid and set it 
down in a corner. Then she shook up her bed 
and helped Joseph to lay the stranger on it. Her 
hands trembled as she did so. 

“Well,” said Joseph indifferently, “everyone 
knows how wild thou’s been with thy father, and 
how thou nearly killed Vincenz Gellner dead, and 
set fire to thy father’s barn in a rage. It seems to me, 
that with such a beginning thou may go still further.” 


1 50 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“Dost know why I struck Yincenz, and fired 
the barn?” asked Wally with a trembling voice, 
“Dost know why I am up here in this dog- 
kennel as thou calls it? Dost know?” And with 
her two hands she broke a strong branch in pieces 
across her knee, so that the wood cracked and splin- 
tered, and Joseph involuntarily admired her strength. 

“No,” he said, “how should I know?” 

“Well then, if thou doesn’t know, thou needn’t 
speak of it,” she said low and angrily as she made 
up the fire that she might warm some milk for the 
sick girl. 

“Tell me, then, if thou thinks I’m doing thee a 
wrong.” 

Wally broke out again suddenly into the shrill, 
bitter laugh peculiar to her when her heart was 
secretly bleeding. “Thee I’m to tell — thee?” she 
cried, “Yes, truly; thou’rt a fitting person for me to 
tell!” And she rinsed out a kettle with feverish 
haste, poured the milk into it, and hung it up over 
the crackling fire. 

Joseph did not discover the pain that lay hidden 
in this scorn — he only felt the scorn, and turned 
away from her offended: “With thee there’s nothing 
to be said; people are right enough there,” he an- 
swered, and thenceforward occupied himself only 
with the sick girl. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


151 

Wally also was silent, and only now and then 
as she moved about her work cast a stolen glance 
to where Joseph, with the red light of the fire upon 
him, sat on a stool not far from the bed. His eyes 
glowed like two coals in the reflection of the flames, 
which shining now brightly, now faintly, lighted up 
the strong and handsome face of the hunter with 
strange changes, so that it appeared sometimes 
friendly, sometimes full of gloom. 

All at once Wally remembered her dream on 
the first night of her arrival on the Hochjoch. “If 
the phantom- maidens .could see him now, they 
would melt away before him like snow before the 
fire.” Something of this she thought, and it seemed 
to her as if only with tears of blood — as it is said 
of a heart that it bleeds — could she tear her glance 
away from him. Two scalding drops did in truth 
fall from her eyes, and though they were not drops 
of blood, they gave her no less pain. 

The stranger now recovered consciousness. 
“What has happened?” she asked in astonishment. 

“Thou must keep thyself quiet, Afra,” said 
Joseph, “the lightning nearly struck thee dead, and 
so Wally Stromminger has brought us to her hut.” 

“Jesu Maria, are we with the Vulture-Wally?” 
said the girl terrified. 

“Keep thyself still,” said Joseph, comforting her, 


152 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“as soon as thou’s recovered, we’ll go on our way 
again.” 

“So over in Vintschgau even thou’s heard talk 
of me? There, take something to drink against 
the fright,” said Wally quietly and with a touch of 
good-humoured sarcasm, as she reached her the 
warm milk mixed with some brandy. Joseph had 
stood up to allow Wally to come to the bed with 
the drink. Afra tried to sit up but she could not 
manage it, and Wally coming quickly to her aid 
raised her and held her in her arms like a child, 
whilst she gave her the milk with the other hand. 
Afra took a thirsty draught out of the wooden 
bowl, but she was so weak that her head sank upon 
Wally’s shoulder when she had done drinking, and 
Wally, beckoning to Joseph to take the bowl from 
her hand, remained sitting patiently so as not to 
disturb the sick girl. 

Joseph looked at her meditatively, as she sat 
there on the edge of the bed with the girl in her 
arms. “Thou’rt a handsome maid,” he said honestly, 
“it’s a pity only thou should be so bad.” 

A slight colour passed over Wally’s face at 
these words. 

“How thy heart beats all at once!” said Afra. 
“I can feel it on thy shoulder.” And a little stronger 
now, she raised her head and gazed at the beauti- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


153 


fill tanned face, and the large eyes. Wally also 
now studied the girl more attentively. She saw 
that she had charming features, blue eyes full of 
expression, fair hair that looked like floss silk, and 
a strange, uneasy feeling of aversion stole over her. 
She looked at Joseph, stood up, and began to 
bustle round again. 

“Is that really the Vulture-Wally?” asked Afra 
of her guide, as though she could not understand 
how the decried Vulture-maiden could be so kind. 

“One wouldn’t suppose it, but she says herself 
that it’s she,” answered Joseph half-aloud. 

“And I’ll soon prove to thee that I am,” cried 
Wally proudly, and opening the door, she cried 
“Hansl — Hansl, where art thou?” A shrill scream 
answered her, and forthwith Hansl came rushing 
down from the roof, and in at the doorJ 

“Heavens, what is that?” screamed Afra, cross- 
ing herself; but Joseph placed himself before her, 
as a protector. 

“That is the vulture that I took as a child out 
of its nest — away yonder on the Burgsteinwand. It 
is from him I got my name — the Vulture-maiden!” 
and her eyes rested proudly on the bird, as a 
soldier’s eyes rest on the conquered colours. “See, 
I’ve tamed him so that I can let him fly where he 
likes now — he never flies away from me.” She 


154 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


set him on her shoulder and unfolded his wings, so 
that Joseph might see they were not cut. 

“That fellow’s a state-prize,” said Joseph, his 
eyes resting with both longing and hostility on 
the splendid booty which no hunter will yield to 
another, least of all to a girl! There must have 
been something in the look that irritated the vul- 
ture, for he uttered a peculiar whistle, bristled up 
his feathers, and bent his neck forward towards 
Joseph. Wally felt the unwonted agitation on her 
shoulder and tried to quiet the bird with caresses. 
“Nay, Hansl, what’s come to thee? Thou wert 
never so before.” 

“Aha! — thou knows the hunter, my fine fellow,” 
said Joseph with a challenging laugh and snatching 
violently at the vulture as though to tear him from 
Wally’s shoulder. Suddenly the irritated bird put 
forth all its might, spread out its wings, rose to the 
ceiling, and thence swooped with its whole strength 
down upon the enemy below. A shriek of terror 
rang from Wally’s lips, Afra saved herself in a 
corner, the narrow hut was almost filled with the 
rushing monster who no longer heard his mistress’s 
voice, but dashed again and again at Joseph with 
his terrible beak striving to strike his talons into 
the man’s side. It was one wild confusion of fight- 
ing fists and wings, in which feathers flew about, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


155 


and the walls grew red where Joseph’s bleeding 
hands touched them. “My knife, if I could only 
get at my knife,” he cried. 

Wally tore the door open. “Out, Joseph, out 
into the open air; in this narrow hole thou can do 
nothing with him.” 

But Joseph the bear-slayer had no idea of 
running away from a vulture. “The devil take me 
if I stir from the spot,” he said with a groan. For 
one moment longer the battle wavered. Then 
Joseph, his face pressed against the wall, managed 
with his iron fists to seize the vulture by the claws, 
and with giant strength forced down the struggling 
animal as in a trap whilst it hacked at his hands 
and arms with its beak. “Now my knife, draw 
out my knife — I have no hand free,” he cried to 
Wally. 

But Wally used the moment otherwise; she 
sprang by, and threw a thick cloth over the vulture’s 
head. It was easy for her now to tie its feet to- 
gether with a cord, so as to render it helpless, and 
Joseph flung it on the ground. Trembling and with- 
out strength the proud animal exhausted itself in 
struggles in the cloth on the floor, and Joseph 
taking up his gun, began to load it. 

“What art thou doing there?” asked Wally as- 
tonished. 


I56 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“Loading my gun,” he said, setting his teeth 
with the pain of his torn hands. When it was 
loaded, he took the captive bird up from the floor, 
and flung it out of the hut into the open air. Then 
placing himself at a little distance, he took aim, and 
said low and imperiously to Wally, “Now let him 
loose.” 

“ What am I to do?” said Wally, who could not 
believe she had heard aright. 

“Let him fly!” 

“What for?” 

“That I may shoot him. Doesn’t thee know 
that no true hunter shoots his game excepting on 
the spring or on the wing?” 

“For God’s sake,” cried Wally, “thou wouldn’t 
shoot me my Hansl?” 

Joseph, in his turn, looked at her wonderingly. 
“Thou’d have me let the rabid brute live, perhaps?” 
he said. 

“Joseph,” said Wally, stepping resolutely up to 
him, “leave me my Hansl untouched. I fought with 
the old one for the bird at the risk of my life, I’ve 
brought him up from the nest, no one loves me as 
he does — he’s my only one, all that I have in the 
world — thou shall do nothing to my Hansl.” 

“Indeed,” said Joseph sharply and bitterly, “the 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 57 

devil nearly tore out my eyes, and I shall do no- 
thing to him?” 

“He didn’t know thee. How can a bird help it 
that he has no more sense? Thou’ll never revenge 
thyself on a beast without understanding?” 

Joseph stamped his foot. “Unbind him that he 
may fly,” he said, “or I’ll shoot him in a heap, as 
he is.” He took aim again with his rifle. 

All the hot blood flew to Wally’s head, and she 
forgot everything but her favourite. “That we will 
see,” she cried in flaming anger, “whether thou’ll 
dare to lay hands on my property. Put down the 
gun. The bird is mine! Dost hear? Mine . And 
none shall hurt or harm him when I am by, come 
what will. Away with -the gun, or thou shall learn 
to know who / am!” And she struck the gun out 
of his hand with a swift blow, so that the charge 
went off, rattling against the wall of rock. 

There was something in her demeanour that 
subdued the strong young fellow, the mighty bear- 
hunter, for he picked up his gun with apparent 
composure, saying with bitter scorn, “Please thyself 
for all I care; I’ll not touch thy hook-beaked sweet- 
heart; he’s like enough the only one thou’ll ever 
have in thy life! Thou — thou’s nothing but the 
Vulture- Wally.” 

And without deigning even to look at her again 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


158 

he tore his pocket-handkerchief into strips, and 
tried to bind up his torn hands with it. Wally 
sprung forward and would have helped him; now 
for the first time she saw how severe the wounds 
were, and it was as if her own heart were bleeding 
at the sight. “O Heavens, lad, what hands thou’st 
got!” she cried out. “Come, and I’ll wash them 
and dress them for thee.” 

But Joseph shoved her aside. “Let be — Afra 
can do it,” he said. 

He went into the hut. An anguish as of death 
came over Wally; she suddenly understood that she 
had made Joseph her enemy, perhaps for ever, and 
she felt as if she must die at the thought. As 
though suddenly crushed, she followed him in, and 
her eye watched the stranger as she bound up Jo- 
seph’s hands, with jealous hatred. 

“Joseph,” said she in a stifled voice, “thee 
mustn’t think that I don’t care for thy wounds, be- 
cause I wouldn’t let thee shoot my Hansl. If it 
could have made thy hands whole, thou might have 
shot Hansl first, and me after him; but it would 
have done thee no good.” 

“It’s no matter, there’s no need to excuse thy- 
self,” said Joseph, turning away. “Afra,” he con- 
tinued to the girl, “can thou go on now?” 

“Yes,” she said. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


159 


“Make thyself ready then, we’ll go.” 

Wally turned pale. “Joseph, thou must rest 
thyself a little longer. I’ve given thee nothing yet 
to eat; I will cook thee something at once, or would 
thou sooner have a draught of milk?” 

“I thank thee kindly; but we must go so as to 
be home before nightfall. It no longer rains, and 
Afra can walk again now.” And with these words 
he helped the girl to get ready, slung his gun over 
his shoulder, and took his alpenstock in his hand. 

Wally picked up one of the feathers which had 
fallen from Hansl in the struggle, and stuck it in 
Joseph’s hat. “Thou must wear the feather, Joseph. 
Thou ought to wear it, for thou conquered the vul- 
ture, and he’d have been thy booty if thou’d not 
given him to me.” 

But Joseph took the feather out of his hat. 
“Thou may mean well,” he said, “but the feather 
I’ll not wear. I’m not accustomed to share my 
booty with girls.” 

“Then take the vulture altogether, I’ll give him 
to thee; only I pray thee, let him live,” urged Wally 
breathlessly. 

Joseph looked at her in wonder. “What has 
come to thee?” he said, “I’ll take nothing from thee 
on which thy heart is so set; one day perhaps I 
may take a live bear, and if so I’ll bring it up to 


1 60 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

thee that the party may be complete. But till then, 
thou’ll see no more of me; I might happen to shoot 
the bird yet if I came across him anywhere, so I’d 
better keep away from his haunts! God be with 
thee, and thanks for the shelter thou’s given us 
So saying he walked proudly and quietly out of 
the hut. 

Afra stooped down and picked up the feather 
that Joseph had thrown away. “Give me the 
feather,” she said; “Fll lay it in my prayer-book, 
and so often as I see it I will say a Pater Noster 
for thee.” 

“As thou will,” said Wally gloomily; she had 
scarcely heard what Afra had said. Her bosom 
heaved and throbbed, and in her ears there was a 
rushing noise as though the tempest was still raging 
round her. She followed the departing guests out 
of the hut. The storm had passed away; the veil 
of black clouds hung raggedly down, and through 
the rents sparkled the wet, far-gleaming distance. 
But for the sullen mutterings of the Thunder-god 
as he withdrew, and the roar of the waters as they 
rushed down the gullies into the depths, all around 
was tranquil and silent, and a white shroud of 
snow and hail stones had spread itself upon the 
mountains. 

Wally stood motionless, her hands pressed upon 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


161 


her bosom. “He never thinks how poor one must 
be to set one’s heart so upon a bird,” said she to 
herself. Then she stooped down and freed the half- 
numbed animal that climbed, staggering, on to her 
arm and looked at her with intelligence, as if to 
ask her forgiveness. “Aye, thou may look at me,” 
she sobbed; “oh, Hansl, Hansl, what hast thou done 
for me!” 

She sat down on the door-step of her little hut, 
and wept from the very bottom of her heart till 
she was weary of the sound of her own sob- 
bing. She looked up to where a high wall of snow 
rose perpendicularly behind her, down to where on 
the right hand and on the left death had prepared 
his cold nest in the snowy hollows, — away into the 
grey distance, where long streaks of rain cloud hung 
down from heaven to earth, and suddenly she felt 
again as she had felt on the first day, that she was 
alone in the wilderness — and must stay there. 


The Vulture- Maiden. 


I 


i6z 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER X. 

The Mistress of the Sonnenplatte. 

Again a year had gone by, a hard year for Wally; 
for when her lonely summer in the wilds was ended 
and Stromminger had sent to fetch the flocks home, 
she had gone down into the Schnalser valley on the 
other side of the Ferner where she was quite a 
stranger, and there had sought service. To the 
Rofeners she would not return, as she must again 
have rejected their suit. But it was just as hard to 
find employment with the vulture here as it had 
been in the Oetz valley, and at last she gave up 
all thought of remuneration, only to be taken in 
with Hansl. Naturally her lot was a forlorn one — 
for on account of this folly, as they called it, she 
was often turned away or scornfully treated by the 
women ; and often she had to defend herself stoutly 
against the rude importunities of the men, who, here 
as everywhere, admired the beautiful girl. Never- 
theless she bore it all steadfastly, for she was too 
proud to lament and complain of a burden she had 
laid on herself of her own frqe will. But she grew 
hard under it, hard and ever harder, just as the 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 63 

good pastor had forewarned her. The ghosts of all 
the murdered joys of her young life haunted her 
and cried out for revenge; in the short spring time 
of life three lost years count for much. Other young 
girls weep and lament over a lost dance. Wally 
did not weep for all the lost dances, for all the 
thousand pleasures of her youth, she grieved only 
for her wasted love; and her spirit, on which no 
ray of happiness had shone, waxed sour and hard 
like a fruit that has matured in the shade. 

Again the spring time came, and again Wally 
ascended the Ferner. It was a bitter spring and a 
stormy summer; rain, snow, and hail succeeded 
each other in turns, so that her clothes often did not 
dry the whole day through, and for weeks together 
she breathed the damp atmosphere of an impene- 
trable chaos of drizzling clouds, through which, as 
before the first day of Creation, no ray of light 
would dawn. And, in her soul, the vast outer chaos 
reproduced itself in little, gloom reflected gloom. 
The whole world as yet was but a dark and troubled 
dream like the cloud drifts around her — and God 
came not, who alone could say, “Let there be 
Light.” 

One day, however, after endless weeks of dark- 
ness, He spoke again the mighty word of creation, 
and a gleam of sunshine shot through the clouds 

11* 


1 64 the vulture-maiden. 

and parted them, and gradually there emerged from 
the chaos a fair and well-ordered world, with 
mountains and valleys, pastures and lakes and 
forests; it was spread out suddenly complete before 
her eyes, and she felt as if she also were now first 
suddenly roused to life — as was once the mother 
of mankind — that she might rejoice in this world 
that God had made so beautiful, not for Himself 
alone, but for those beings whom He had created 
to take delight in it with Him. 

Was it possible there should be no happiness 
in so fair a world? And wherefore had God set 
her, this hapless Eve, up here in the desert, where 
he for whom she had been born could never 
find her? “Oh! yonder, down yonder — enough of 
these lonely heights ! ” a voice cried suddenly within 
her, and all at once the wild yearning for life, for 
love, for happiness broke forth, so that she long- 
ingly stretched out her arms towards the smiling, 
sunny world that lay below at her feet. 

“Wally, thou must come down at once. Thy 
father’s dead.” The shepherd boy stood be- 
fore her. 

Wally stared at him as if dreaming. Was it a 
vision called up by her own heart, that even now 
had cried out so rebelliously for happiness? She 
grasped the lad by the shoulder as though to assure 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


165 

herself that he was indeed there, and it was no 
trick of the imagination. He repeated the message. 
“The place in his foot got worse and worse, then 
it mortified, and he died this morning. Now thou’s 
mistress at the farm, and Klettenmaier sends thee 
greeting.” 

Then it was true, really true! the messenger of 
release, of peace, of liberty stood before her in the 
flesh. For this it was that God had shown her the 
earth so fair, as though He would say to her be- 
forehand, “See, this is now thine own, come down 
and take that which I have given thee.” 

She went silently into the hut and closed the 
door. Then she knelt down and thanked God, and 
prayed — prayed again, for the first time in many 
weeks, ardently, from the depth of her soul; and 
hot tears for the father who was now for ever gone 
— whom living she could not and dared not love 
as a child — welled up from her released and recon- 
ciled heart. 

Then she went down to the home, that now at 
last was again a home to her, where her foot once 
more trod her own soil, her own hearth. Old 
Klettenmaier stood at the gate and joyfully waved 
his cap when she arrived; the servant-girl who, 
two years before, had been so rude to her, 


1 66 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

came weeping and submissive to give her the keys, 
and at the sitting-room door she was received by 
Vincenz. 

“ Wally,” he began, “thou’st used me very badly, 
but — ” 

Wally interrupted him quietly but severely. 
“Vincenz, if I’ve done thee any wrong, may God 
punish me as it shall please Him. I cannot regret 
it nor make it good to thee, nor do I ask thee for 
forgiveness. Now thou know’st my mind, and all I 
pray thee is, leave me to myself” 

And without vouchsafing him another glance, 
she went in to where the body of her father lay, 
and locked the door. She stood by it, tearless. 
She had been able to weep for the transfigured 
father, freed from the “tenement of clay;” but 
standing by that form of clay itself, which with a 
heavy fist had marred her and her life, which had 
struck her down and trodden on her — she could 
shed no tears, she was as if made of stone. 

Quietly she said a Pater Noster, but she did not 
kneel to say it. As she had stood motionless, self- 
possessed before her living father, so now she stood 
before him dead; only without resentment, recon- 
ciled by death. 

Then she went into the kitchen to prepare a 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


167 


supper by the time the neighbours should come for 
the night to pray and to watch the dead. It kept 
all hands busy, and by midnight the room was so 
full of watchers that she could hardly provide 
enough to eat and to drink. For the richer a 
peasant is, the more neighbours come to the watch- 
ing and praying by the corpse. 

Wally looked on with silent aversion. Here 
lay a dead man — and so they ate and drank like so 
many flies! The dull hum and bustle were so 
strange to her after the sublime stillness of her 
mountain home, and struck her as so small and 
pitiful, that involuntarily she wished herself back 
again on the silent heights. Speechless and in- 
different she passed to and fro between the noisy 
eating and drinking groups, and people said how 
much she resembled her dead father. On the third 
day was the funeral. From far and near people of 
the neighbouring hamlets came to it, partly to pay 
the last respect to the important and dreaded chief- 
peasant, partly to “make all straight” with the wicked 
Vulture-maiden, who now was mistress of all the 
great possessions of the Strommingers. Hitherto, in- 
deed, she had been only an “incendiary” and a 
“ne’er do weel;” but now she was the wealthiest 
owner in all the mountain range, and that made all 
the difference. 


i68 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Wally felt the change keenly, and she knew too 
whence it came. When she saw now after the funeral 
the same people stand before her with bent backs 
and obsequious grins, who, but one year before, had 
turned her from their doors with scorn and flouting 
when, starving with cold and hunger, she had asked 
them for work — then she turned away with loath- 
ing — then, and from that hour she despised man- 
kind. 

The cure of Heiligkreuz came too, and the 
Klotze from Rofen. Now was the moment for 
making at least an outward return for all their 
goodness to her when she had been poor and aban- 
doned, and she distinguished them from all the 
others and kept with them only. When the funeral 
feast was over and the guests had at last dispersed, 
the priest of Heiligkreuz remained with her yet a 
little while, and spoke many good words to her. 
“Now you are mistress over many servants,” he 
said, “but remember that he who does not know 
how to govern himself will not know how to govern 
others. It is an old saying, that ‘he who cannot 
obey, cannot command’; learn to obey, my child, 
that you may be able to command.” 

“But, your reverence, whom am I to obey? 
There’s no one here now that has any orders to 
give me.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


69 


“God.” 

Wally was silent. 

“See here,” said the cure, taking something 
from the pocket of his wide-skirted coat. “I have 
long meant this for you, ever since the time you 
were with me, but you could not have taken it 
with you in your wanderings.” He took out of a 
box a small neatly-carved image of a saint with a 
little pedestal of wood. 

“See, this is your patron saint, the holy Wall- 
burga. Do you remember what I said to you about 
hard and soft wood, and about the good God who 
can carve a saint out of a knotty stick?” 

“Yes, yes,” said Wally. 

“Well, you see, in order that you may not forget 
it, I have had a little image brought for me from 
Solden. Hang it up over your bed, and pray be- 
fore it diligently — that will do you good.” 

“I thank your reverence very much,” said Wally, 
evidently delighted, as she took the fragile object 
carefully in her hard hands. “I will be sure always 
to remember when I look at it, how well you ex- 
plained the meaning of it all to me. And this is 
how the holy Wallburga looked! Oh, she must in- 
deed have been a sweet and lovely woman; but 
who could be so good and so pious as that?” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


170 


And as Klettenmaier came towards her across 
the courtyard, she held the figure out to him and 
cried, “See, Klettenmaier, what I have had given 
me; it is the holy Wallburga, my patron saint. We 
will send his reverence the first fine lamb that is 
dropped, as a present.” 

The good priest put in a sincere protest against 
this kind of return, but Wally, in her pleasure, paid 
no heed. 

When the cure was gone, she went into her 
room and nailed the carved figure with the sacred 
images over her bed, and all round, like a wreath, 
she placed the pack of cards that had been old 
Luckard’s. Then she went to see what there was 
to do in the farm or in the house. 

“Hansl,” she cried as she passed the vulture 
who was perched on the wood-shed, “we are the 
masters now!” And the sense of mastery after her 
long servitude pervaded her whole being, as in- 
toxicating wine drunk in deep draughts fills the 
veins of an exhausted man. 

In the courtyard the servants hired by Vincenz 
were all assembled, and Vincenz himself was amongst 
them. He had grown haggard, his face was of a 
yellow paleness, and on the back of his head in the 
midst of his thick black hair he had a bald place 
like a tonsure; his glaring eyes lay deep in their 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. I 7 I 

sockets, like the eyes of a wolf lurking in a crevice 
for his prey. 

“What is it?” asked Wally, standing still. The 
upper servant, erewhile so rude, approached with 
timid subserviency. 

“We only wished to ask thee if thou’s meaning 
to send us away because we treated thee so badly 
while the master was alive? Thou knows we could 
only do what he would have done.” 

“You did only your duty,” said Wally quietly. 
“I send none away unless I find him dishonest or a 
bad servant. And if you left off bowing and bend- 
ing before me, you’d please me better. Go to your 
work that I may see what you can do, that’s better 
worth than fooleries.” 

The people separated; Vincenz remained, his 
eyes fixed glowingly on Wally; she turned and 
stretched out her hand against him. “One only I 
banish from my hearth and home — thee, Vincenz,” 
she said. 

“Wally!” cried Vincenz, “this — this in return 
for all I did for thy father.” 

“What thou did for my father as his steward, 
so long as he was lame, that thou shall get a return 
for. I give thee the meadows that adjoin thy farm 
and round off thy land; that I think will repay thee 
thy time and trouble, and if not, say so — I’ll be be- 


17 2 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


holden to thee for nothing — ask what thou will— 
but get thee from before my eyes.” 

“I want nought — I’ll have nought but thee, 
Wally. All is one to me without thee. Thou’st well 
nigh murdered me, thou’st ill used me every time 
I’ve ever seen thee — and — the devil’s in it — I cannot 
give thee up. Look here — I did it all for thee. For 
thee I’d commit a murder — for thee I’d sell my soul’s 
salvation — and thou thinks to put me off with a 
few meadows? Thou thinks to be free of me so? 
Thou may offer me all thou hast — all thy land and 
the Oetzthal into the bargain — I’d fling it back to 
thee if thou didn’t give me thyself. Look at me — 
my very marrow is wasting away — I don’t know how 
it is, but for one single kiss from thee, I’d give thee 
all my lands and goods and starve for the rest of 
my days. Now send a clerk to reckon once again 
with how many pounds and acres thou’ll be rid of 
me!” And with a glance of the wildest and bitterest 
defiance at the astonished Wally he left the farm- 
yard. 

She was awed by him — she had never before 
seen him thus; she had had a glimpse into the 
depths of an unfathomable passion, and she wavered 
between horror and pity. 

“What is there in me,” she thought, “that the 
lads are all such fools about me?” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


1 73 


Ah, and only one came not; the only one that 
she would have had — despised her. And if— if 
meantime he were already married? The thought 
took away her breath. She thought again of the 
stranger that he had brought with him across the 
Hochjoch — but no — she was only a servant maid! 

And yet something must happen soon! She was 
rich and important now, she might venture to take 
a step towards him! But all her maidenly pride 
stood in arms at the thought, and “Wait — wait,” 
was still all that was left to her. 

She felt driven restlessly through house and 
fields; soon it was apparent that she was spoilt 
for the village life; week followed week, and she 
could not accustom herself to it. She was and 
she remained the child of Murzoll — the wild Wally. 
She scorned pitilessly all that seemed to her petty 
or foolish, she could bind herself to no regularity, 
no customs, no habits. She feared no one — she 
had forgotten what fear was, up there on the 
Ferner, and she met the smaller life below with the 
same iron front that had defied the terrors of the 
elements. Mighty and strong of body and soul she 
stood among the villagers like a being of another 
world. She had become a stranger in the boorish 
herd who stared at her with distrust and dislike — as 
boors always stare at that which is unfamiliar— but 


174 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN; 


who nevertheless dared not approach too near to 
the great proprietress. But the girl was sensible of 
their hostility, as of the mean cowardice which, 
while it spoke her fair to her face, betrayed its 
hatred behind her back. 

“I ask leave of no one,” was her haughty motto, 
and so she did whatever her wild spirit prompted. 
When she was in the humour, she would work all 
day like a labourer to incite the lazy servants, and 
if one of them was not up to the mark in his work, 
she would impatiently snatch it from his hand and 
do it herself. At other times she would spend the 
whole day in melancholy dreaming, or she would 
wander about the mountains so that people be- 
gan to think her mind was unsettled. The men 
and maids meanwhile did as they pleased, and the 
neighbours maliciously whispered to each other 
that in this fashion she would let everything go to 
ruin. 

While she thus set herself against all rule and 
order, she was on the other hand stern even to 
hardness in matters which the other peasants 
passed over much less strictly. If she detected a 
servant in dishonesty or false dealing she at once 
gave information to the justices. If any one ill- 
used a beast, she would seize him by the collar 
and shake him, beside herself with rage. If one of 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


175 


her people came home drunk in the evening, she 
would have him ignominiously locked out to pass the 
night out-of-doors, whether in rain or snow. If she 
discovered any immorality, the culprit that same 
hour was turned out of the house. For her spirit 
was chaste and pure as the glaciers with whom she 
had so long dwelt in solitude, and all the love- 
making and whispering, the meetings and serenad- 
ings that went on around her, filled her with 
horror. 

All this gained her a reputation for unsparing 
hardness, and made her to be feared as her father 
had been before her. 

Nevertheless she seemed to have bewitched 
all the young men. Not only her possessions; — 
no, she — she herself with all her strangeness was 
what the lads desired to win. When she stood 
before them, tall, as though standing on higher 
ground , slim and yet so strongly and proudly 
built that her close-laced boddice could hardly 
contain her nobly-moulded form, when she raised 
her arm, strong and nervous as a youth’s, against 
them threateningly, whilst a lightning flash of scorn 
flamed like a challenge from her large black eyes — 
then a wild fire of love and strife seized the lads, 
and they would wrestle with her as if for life or 
death only to win a single kiss. But then woe to 


176 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


them, for they had not the strength to conquer 
this woman, and must go their way with scorn 
and derision. He was yet to come who alone 
could cope with her — would he ever come? Enough, 
she awaited him. 

“He that can say of me I ever gave him a kiss, 
him will I marry, but he that’s not strong enough 
to win that kiss by force — Wallburga Stromminger 
was not born for him!” she said haughtily one day, 
and soon the saying was reported in all the sur- 
rounding neighbourhood, and the young men came 
from far and near to try their luck and take her at 
her word. It became indeed a point of honour to 
be a suitor of the wild Wallburga, as any rash ad- 
venture is thought honourable by a man of strength 
and courage. 

Soon there was not a man of marriageable age 
in all the three valleys who had not striven to con- 
quer Wally and to wrest the kiss from her, but not 
one had succeeded. And she triumphed in the 
wild game and in her mighty strength, for she knew 
that she was talked of far and near, and that Joseph 
would often hear of her; and she thought that now 
he must at last think it worth the trouble to come 
and carry off the prize, it it were only to prove his 
strength — as that day when he had gone to slay the 
bear. If only he were here, she thought, why should 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


177 


he not fall in love with her like all the others, — 
above all, if she showed to him how sweet and 
friendly she could be? 

But he never came. Instead, there came one 
day to the “Stag” which adjoined Wally’s kitchen- 
garden, the messenger from Vent. Wally, who was 
at that moment weeding, heard Joseph’s name 
spoken and listened behind the hedge to the mes- 
senger’s narration. 

Since his mother’s death Joseph Hagenbach goes 
oftener to the “Lamb” at Zwieselstein — was the 
man’s story — and a love affair is talked about be- 
tween him and the pretty Afra, the barmaid at the 
“Lamb.” Only yesterday he was up there, and 
dined alone with Afra at the guest’s table while the 
hostess stayed in the kitchen. Suddenly the bull 
broke loose, and ran through the village like a 
whirlwind; a hornet had stung him in the ear. All 
fled to their houses and shut to the doors, and the 
innkeeper of the “Lamb” is about to do the same, 
when he sees his youngest child, a girl of five, lying 
in the road. She couldn’t get up, for the children 
had been playing coaches, and the little one was 
harnessed to a heavy wheel-barrow when the cry 
was raised that the bull was loose; the other chil- 
dren ran off, but little Liese with the heavy barrow 
could not so quickly get away; she fell and en- 

The Vulture- Maiden. 12 


i7» 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


tangled herself in the rope, and there she lies right 
in the middle of the road, and the brute is snorting 
quite close to her with his horns lowered. There 
is no time to untie the child or to carry it off, 
barrow and all; the bull is there; the father and 
Afra scream so that they can be heard all through 
the village, — but all at once Joseph is on the 
spot, and thrusts a hay-fork into the side of the 
beast. The bull bellows and turns upon Joseph, 
and out of the windows, every one cries for help 
— but no one comes to help him. He seizes 
the bull by the horns, and with the strength of a 
giant forces him back a step or two whilst the bull 
struggles with him. Meanwhile the father has had 
time to fetch the child, and now the question is 
what will become of Joseph, whom all have left in 
the lurch? Afra wrings her hands and screams for 
help, the bull has forced Joseph with his horns to 
the ground and is about to trample on him, when 
from below Joseph strikes him in the neck with 
his knife, so that the blood spurts out all over him. 
The bull now begins to kick, lifting Joseph who 
holds tight on to his horns, then rushes furiously 
forward a little way, dragging Joseph with him, half 
in the air, and half on the ground: Joseph mean- 
while, who wants to bring him to a stand-still again, 
never losing his hold. By this time the bull is 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


179 


bleeding from five wounds, and gradually getting 
weaker; once or twice Joseph finds his feet again, 
but each time the brute regains the mastery, and 
with desperate leaps hurries him on. The peasants 
have recovered themselves now and come out, 
the host of the “Lamb” at their head, to help 
Joseph with hay-forks and knives. But the bull 
hears the uproar behind him, and once more lower- 
ing his horns flings himself, with Joseph, against 
a closed barn door, so that every one thought 
Joseph must be crushed; but the door gives way 
under the blow and flies open, the bull rushes into 
the shed, and there wallows in his death-struggle 
among ladders, carts, and ploughs, so that all fall 
in confusion one over another. Joseph however 
swings himself up to a beam and throws the door 
to, so that the raging animal shall not get out 
again; the people outside hear him barricade the 
door; he is shut up in that narrow space alone 
with the brute, and those outside can do nothing. 
They hear the stamping and storming, the bellow- 
ing and uproar within, and shudder at the sound. 
At last all is still. After an anxious interval, the 
door is opened, and Joseph comes staggering for- 
ward bathed in blood and sweat. They sup- 
pose the bull is dead, but Joseph says it were a 
pity to kill so fine a beast, that his wounds 


i8o 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


could be healed and were none of them in a vital 
part. 

In the barn all is in confusion, everything 
upset, trampled, and crushed, but the bull lies with 
all four legs tied and fastened to the floor; he lies 
motionless on his side, snorting and gasping, like 
a calf in a butcher’s cart. Joseph has subdued the 
bull and bound him, alive — all by himself. There 
is no one like him. 

When they came back with Joseph to the “Lamb,” 
Afra fell on his neck before all the people, crying 
and sobbing, and the hostess brought Liese to him 
in her arms, and would have treated him to the best 
in the house — but Joseph was in no mood for any 
more merry-making. He drank one draught in his 
raging thirst, and then went home. The whole village 
was full of him, and that evening there was a great 
drinking-bout in his honour, that lasted far into 
the night. 

This was the news the messenger brought from 
Vent, and again there was much talking about Joseph 
Hagenbach, and all the folks wondered that he 
should never come up here after Wally. The mis- 
tress of the Sonnenplatte had so many suitors — 
only Joseph seemed to wish to have nothing to do 
with her. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. l8l 

Wally left her place by the hedge; the words 
brought a hot blush of shame to her brow. Thus 
it was then that people spoke of her, — that Joseph 
would have nothing to say tb her? And it was Afra 
that he was following? That was the same girl 
that he had brought with him over the Ferner 
the year before, and had been so careful of even 
then. 

She sat down on a stone and covered her face 
with both hands. A storm raged within her, a 
storm of love, admiration, jealousy. Her heart was 
as though torn in pieces. She loved him — loved 
him as she had never done before, as though the 
panting breath with which she had followed the 
narration of his deed had fanned the glimmering 
spark into a glowing flame. Again, then — again he 
had done what no other could accomplish, but she 
had no part in it — for Afra’s master it had been 
done, for love of Afra! Was it possible? must she 
give way to a maid-servant — she, the daughter of 
the Strommingers? Was not she the richest, and 
as all the young men told her, the most beautiful 
maid in all the land? Far and wide, was there one 
that could compare with her for strength and power? 
Was not she, and she alone, his equal, and should 
they two not come together? There was but the 
one Joseph in the world, and should he not belong 


Sz 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


to her? Should he throw himself away on Afra, 
on a miserable beggar girl? No, it could not be, 
it was impossible. Why, after all, should he not 
go to the Lamb, without its being for Afra’s 
sake? He wandered about so much in the course 
of hunting, and the Lamb was at Zwieselstein, exactly 
where all the cross roads met. “O Joseph, Joseph, 
come to me,” she moaned aloud, and threw herself 
with her face upon the ground, as if to cool its 
burning heat in the little dewy leaves. Then all at 
once she remembered how the messenger had said 
that Afra had thrown herself on Joseph’s neck when 
he came back to the inn. She shuddered at the 
thought. And suddenly she pictured to herself how 
it would be if she were Joseph’s wife, and if, when 
after such a struggle he came home weary, wounded, 
and bleeding, she had the right to receive him in 
her arms, to refresh him, to comfort him. How she 
would wash his hot brow and bind his wounds and 
lay him to rest on her heart till he fell asleep under 
her caresses! She had never thought of such things 
before, but now, as they crowded on her, she was 
thrilled by a hitherto unknown sense — as an open- 
ing flower trembles when it bursts the encasing 
bud. 

In this moment she ripened into a woman, but, 
wild and ungovernable as all her feelings were, that 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


83 


which made her womanly stirred up all the hidden 
and sleeping powers of evil in her soul, and a fear- 
ful tempest raged within her. 

The evening breeze swept coldly over her, she 
felt it not; night came on, and the ever-peaceful 
stars looked down with wondering eyes on the 
writhing form, as she lay on the earth in the night 
dews and tore her hair. 

“The mistress wasn’t in again all last night,” 
said the housekeeper next morning to the under- 
servants. “What is it, think you, that she does all 
night?” And they laid their heads together and 
whispered to each other. 

But they all scattered like spray before the wind 
when Wally came towards them across the court- 
yard from the kitchen-garden; she was pale, and 
looked prouder and more imperious than ever. 
And so she continued; from that day forth she was 
changed, unjust, capricious, irritable, so that no one 
dared speak to her but old Klettenmaier, who al- 
ways had more influence with her than any one 
else. And withal she carried her haughtiness in 
everything to the farthest point; her last word was 
always “the mistress” — for “the mistress” nothing 
was good enough — “the mistress” would not be 
pleased with this or with that — “the mistress” 


184 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


might permit herself things which no one else 
could venture on, and many another such provo- 
cation. 

Every day she dressed herself as if it were 
Sunday, and had new clothes made, and even a 
silver necklace brought from Vent with all sorts of 
pendants in filigree- work, so heavy and costly that 
the like had never before been seen in the valley. 
At the feast of Corpus Christi she left off her 
mourning for her father and appeared in the pro- 
cession so resplendent with silver and velvet and 
silk that the people could hardly say their prayers 
for gazing at her. It was the first time that she 
had joined in a procession, and indeed no one 
knew exactly what kind of a Christian she might 
be; but it was clear that she only went now to 
show her new clothes and her necklace, because 
most of the people of the canton from as far up as 
Vent, and as far down as Zwieselstein, were as- 
sembled there. 

When she knelt down there was a rustling and 
jingling of stiff silks and plaitings and tinkling 
silver, and it seemed to say, “See, no one can 
have all this but the mistress of the Sonnen- 
platte!” 

It happened that as the last Gospel was being 
read a slight confusion arose in the procession, and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 1 85 

some people who had been behind were now walk- 
ing before her. They were the hostess of the Lamb 
at Zwieselstein and the pretty slim Afra; she found 
herself close to Wally, and nodded to her, then 
looked back at Joseph, who was walking behind 
with the men — so at least it seemed to Wally. 
Afra looked so lovely at this instant, that for sheer 
jealousy Wally forgot to return her salute. Then 
she heard Afra say to her companion, “See there, 
that is the Vulture-maiden, that let her vulture tear 
Joseph to pieces nearly! Now she’ll not even take 
my good-day — and yet I’ve said many a Pater Noster 
for her.” 

“Thou might have spared thyself the trouble 
then,” Wally broke in, “I want none to pray for 
me — that I can do for myself.” 

“But as it seems to me, thou doesn’t do it,” 
retorted Afra. 

“I’ve no need to pray as much as other folk; 
I’ve enough and to spare, and don’t need to 
pray to God like a poor maid-servant, who must 
say a Pater Noster whenever she’s in want of a new 
shoe-ribbon.” 

The angry blood mounted in Afra’s face. “Oh, 
for that matter, a shoe-ribbon that’s been prayed 
for may bring more happiness than a silver 
necklace that’s been got in a godless way.” 


86 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Yes, yes,” said the hostess, putting in her 
word, “Afra’s in the right there.” 

“If my necklace doesn’t please thee, walk be- 
hind me, then thou’ll not see it; nor does it become 
the mistress of the Sonnenplatte to walk behind a 
servant wench.” 

“It’d do thee no harm to tread in Afra’s foot- 
steps — that I tell thee plainly,” retorted the inn- 
keeper’s wife. 

“Shame on you, hostess, to lower yourself by 
taking part with your own maid,” cried Wally with 
flashing eyes. “He who doesn’t value himself, none 
other will value!” 

“Oh! then a maid-servant’s not a human 
soul!” said Afra, trembling from head to foot. 
“A silk gown though, makes no difference to the 
good God; He sees what’s beneath it, a good heart 
or a bad!” 

“Yes, truly,” cried Wally with an outbreak of 
hatred, “it’s not every one can have so good a 
heart as thine — above all towards the lads. Go to 
the Devil!” 

“Wally!” exclaimed Afra, and the tears rushed 
from her eyes. But she had to be silent, for at 
this moment the procession had again reached 
the church, the last benediction was pronounced, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


I8 7 


and the procession broke up. Wally shot by 
Afra like a queen, so that she had to cling to 
her companion; she had almost run over the 
girl, and every one turned to look after her. The 
men said no more beautiful maid was to be found 
in all the Tyrol, but the women were bursting 
with envy. 

“She looks rather different now to what she did 
up on the Hochjoch, with a dog’s hole to live in 
and neither combed nor coiffed — like a wild thing!” 
said Joseph, who was standing not far off, and 
looked at her with wondering eyes; then he nodded 
a farewell to Afra, and quitted the crowd; he wanted 
to be home by midday. 

But Afra hastened after Wally. Her pretty blue 
eyes sparkled with tears, like water sprinkled on a 
fire; she was beside herself with anger, and so was 
the innkeeper’s wife. They caught up Wally at 
the village inn. She too was in the most terrible 
agitation; she had seen the affectionate familiar 
farewell that Joseph had nodded to Afra, and to 
her — to her, as she believed — he had not vouch- 
safed a single glance. And now he was gone, and 
all the hopes betrayed that she had set on this 
day’s doings. This Afra! all her anger was centered 
on her, she could have trampled her under foot. 
And here was Afra standing before her, stopping 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


I 88 

her way and speaking to her with angry defiance — 
she, the low servant-girl! 

“Mistress,” Afra brought out breathlessly, 
“thou’s said a thing that I cannot let pass, for it 
touches my character — what did thou mean by 
saying I had a good heart towards the lads? I 
will know what lay behind those words!” 

“Dost wish to make a quarrel with Wall- 
burga Stromminger,” cried Wally, and her flash- 
ing eyes looked straight down upon the girl. 
“Dost think Fd enter into strife with such a one as 
thou?” 

“With such a one as me,” cried the girl, “what 
sort of one am I then? Fm a poor maid and 
have had none to care for me, but Fve done no 
one any harm, nor set fire to any one’s house. 
I’ve no need to put up with anything from thee — 
know that.” 

Wally started as though stung by a snake. 

“A wench art thou, a shameless servant wench 
that throws thyself on a lad’s neck before every 
one,” she cried, forgetting herself and every thing, 
so that the people crowded round her. 

“What? who? whose neck?” stammered the girl, 
turning pale. 

“Shall I tell thee? Shall I?” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


189 


“Yes, speak out; I have a good conscience, and 
the mistress of the Lamb here, she can testify that 
it is not true.” 

“Indeed — not true! is it not true that two years 
ago, when thou hardly knew Joseph, he dragged 
thee with him over the Hochjoch, and had to carry 
thee half the way because thou made as though 
thou could walk no farther? Is it not true thou’st 
never let him be since, so that everyone names 
him and thee together? Is it not true thou keeps 
Joseph away from other maids that have better 
right and were better wives for him than thou — a 
vagabond serving-girl ? Is it not true that only 
the other day, when he had fought the bull, thou 
fell on his neck before the whole village as if 
thou’d been his promised wife? Is none of that 
true?” 

Afra covered her face with her hands, and wept 
aloud, “Oh, Joseph, Joseph, that I should have to 
put up with this.” 

“Be quiet, Afra,” said the good natured land- 
lady consolingly, “she has betrayed herself, it’s only 
her anger because Joseph doesn’t run after her and 
won’t burn his fingers for her like the other lads. 
If only Joseph were here he would make her tell 
a different story.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


190 

“Yes, I can well believe that he wouldn’t leave 
his pretty sweetheart in the lurch,” said Wally, with 
a laugh so terribly sharp and shrill that the sound 
re-echoed from the hills like a cry of pain. “Such 
a sweetheart, who hangs about his neck, is no doubt 
more convenient than one who must first be won, 
and with whom it might come to pass that he’d 
have to take himself off again with scorn and 
mockery. The proud bear-hunter would no doubt 
sooner mate with such a one than with the Vulture- 
Maiden!” 

The innkeeper now stepped forward. “Hearken,” 
he said, “I’ve had enough of this; the lass is 
a good lass — my wife and I, we answer for her, 
and we’ll let no harm come to her. Do thou 
take back thy words; I order it — dost under- 
stand?” 

Again Wally laughed aloud, “Landlord,” she 
said. “Did thou ever hear tell that the Vulture lets 
itself be ordered by the Lamb?” 

Everyone laughed at the play of words, for 
the host of the Lamb was proverbially called a 
“Lamperl,”* because he was a weak good-natured 
man who would put up with anything. 

“Aye, thou deserves thy name, thou Vultu re- 
Wally — that thou dost.” 


* Lamb. 


THE VULTURE- MAIDEN. 


igt 

“Make way there,” Wally now exclaimed, “I’ve 
had enough of this — this threshing of empty straw. 
Let me pass!” and she would have pushed Afra on 
one side under the doorway. 

But the innkeeper’s wife held Afra by the 
arm. 

“Nay, thou’s no call to make way — get thee in 
first; thou’rt no worse than she is,” she said, as 
she tried to press through the door with Afra in 
front of Wally. 

Wally seized Afra by the waist, lifted her up 
and flung her from the door into the arms of the 
nearest bystander. “First come the mistresses, and 
after them the maids,” she said; then passing be- 
fore everyone into the room she seated herself at 
the head of the table. 

Everyone chuckled and clapped their hands at 
the audacious jest. Afra cried and was so abashed 
that she would not go in, and the innkeeper and 
his wife took her home. 

“Only wait, Afra,” said the good woman con- 
solingly on the way home, “I’ll send Joseph to her, 
and he will take her in hand.” But Afra only 
shook her head and said no one would do her any 
good; disgraced she was, and disgraced she must 
remain. 

“Well, but why must thou needs begin a quarrel 


I92 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

with that bad girl of Stromminger’s,” said the land- 
lord, scolding her good-naturedly, “every one keeps 
out of her way that can.” 

Meanwhile Wally sat within and looked out of 
window at Afra departing with her companions; her 
heart beat so that the silver pendants to her neck- 
lace tinkled softly. 

She was called upon to eat, the vermicelli soup 
was getting cold; but she found the soup bad and 
the mutton as tough as leather; she tossed a gulden 
on the table, would take no change, and in the face 
of all the astonished peasants rustled out of the 
house. 

Just as she had done after her confirmation five 
years before, she tore off her fine clothes when she 
got home, and flung them into the chest. The silver 
necklace with its filigree work she trampled into a 
shapeless mass. What good had her splendour done 
her? It had not helped her to please the only one 
whom she desired to please. And, as once before, 
she threw herself on her bed, angrily chafing against 
the holy images. A piercing torment tortured her 
soul as if with knives. Her eyes fell on the carved 
image of Wallburga above her, and then she 
thought that the pain she was enduring might be 
the knife of God working on her, to make out of 
her a Saint — as the cure had said. But why 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


193 


should she be made a saint? She would so 
much rather be a happy woman. And that might 
have been done so easily; the good God would 
not have needed to carve her out for that — she 
would already have been quite right just as she 
was! 

So she murmured and rebelled against the knife 
of God. 


The Vulture-Maiden. 


13 


194 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER XL 

At Last. 

For some time Wally’s moods had been almost 
unendurable. The whole night through she would 
wander about in the open air; by day she was full 
of unceasing and indomitable energy, labouring 
restlessly early and late, and expecting every one 
else to do the same — an impossibility for most 
people. Vincenz might now venture to call again, 
for he always knew the latest news in the valley — 
and Wallburga had all at once grown eager for 
news. When Vincenz perceived this, he made it 
his express business to enquire far and near, so as 
always to have some new thing to retail to Wally, 
who thus became gradually accustomed to see him 
every day. He soon observed that she always 
showed more curiosity about Solden and Zwiesel- 
stein than about any other place, and cunning as 
he was, he easily discovered the reason. He con- 
stantly brought word of the continued intimacy 
between Joseph and Afra; it was news that threw 
Wally into the most frightful agitation, but he 
feigned not to perceive this, and cautiously avoid- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


195 


ing any mention of his own love, succeeded in 
making her feel secure and trustful with him. But 
he was consumed with jealousy of Joseph; that 
Hagenbach was the curse of his life. There was 
no glory in which he had not anticipated him, 
no deed of valour in which he had not stood be- 
fore him, no match at skittles or at shooting at 
which he had not carried off the prize, and now 
he had taken from him Wally’s heart also — Wally’s 
heart, which his persistent suit might perhaps have 
won, had not Joseph been there. “Why does God 
Almighty pour everything down on one man and 
deal so niggardly with another?” growled Vincenz, 
and tormented himself secretly as much as Wally 
did. If they had only done their lamentations and 
grumbling together, it would have been enough to 
desolate the whole Oetz valley! 

One evening — it was in haytime — Wally was 
helping to load a large hay-cart; the load was ready 
and oMy the great crossbar had to be set in its 
place, but the hay was piled so high that the men 
could not throw it across. When they had got it 
half way up, they let it slip again, laughing and 
playing foolish tricks the while. Wally’s patience 
all at once gave way. “Get out, you blockheads,” 
she exclaimed, and mounted on the waggon, push- 
ing the men to right and left out of her way; then 

13* 


I96 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

drawing in the rope, she pulled up the crosstree, 
seized hold of one end of it with both her rounded 
arms, and with a single jerk hoisted it on to the 
waggon. A shout of admiration broke from all; the 
girls laughed at the men for not being able to do 
what a woman had done, and the men scratched 
their heads and thought that all could not be as it 
should be with the mistress, and that the devil must 
have a hand in it. 

Wally stood on the waggon, and looked at the 
red setting sun. In her attitude and on her fea- 
tures was an expression of proud satisfaction; once 
more she had felt the certainty that not one was 
her equal, and strong in her sense of power, she 
was ready to challenge the whole world. 

At that moment Vincenz came up. “Wally,” 
he called out to her, “thou looks like Queen Po- 
tiphar on the elephant. If Joseph had seen Po- 
tiphar like that, for certain he’d not have been so 
bashful.” 

Wally turned crimson at these offensive words, 
and sprang down from the waggon. “I forbid 
such jests with me,” she said, when she was on the 
ground. 

“Nay,” disclaimed Vincenz, “I meant no harm; 
but thou looked so handsome up there, it came out 
without thinking: it shall not happen again” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


197 


They walked on silently together. 

“What news is stirring?” asked Wally at last, 
according to custom. 

“Not much,” said Vincenz; “they say that Ha- 
genbach is going to take the maid Afra to the 
dance at Solden on St. Peter’s Day. I heard it from 
the messenger who had had to fetch a new pair of 
shoes from Imst for Afra, and a silk neckerchief, 
and Joseph paid for them.” Wally bit her lips 
and said nothing, but Vincenz saw what was passing 
in her mind. 

“I tell thee what,” said Vincenz, “we also do 
things in style on St. Peter’s Day, and if the peasant- 
mistress would come, there would be a feast to be 
talked of far and wide; come for once with me to 
the dance.” 

Wally gave her head a short toss. “I’m the 
right sort to go to dances,” she said. 

“Nay go, Wally,” urged Vincenz, “just for once, 
if it’s only to spite people.” 

“Much I care for them,” said Wally, laughing 
contemptuously. 

“But think a bit, people say — ” he paused. 

Wally stood still. “What do they say?” she 
asked, looking at him piercingly. 

Vincenz shrank back at the expression on her 
countenance. “I only mean that they say thou’s 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


198 

got some secret trouble. The upper servant says 
thou wast out the whole night, and goes wandering 
about like a sick chicken. And folk say thou’st 
everything heart can desire, and suitors as many as 
the sand on the seashore, so if thou’s not content 
with that, there must be some love-sorrow on thy 
mind — and ever since what happened at the Pro- 
cession — ” 

“Well! go on!” said Wally huskily. 

“Since then they say that Joseph is the only lad 
in the Oetz valley that thou cares to catch — and 
that he won’t bite.” 

He darted a lightning glance at Wally as he 
said the words; they touched her to the quick. 
She had to stand still and lean her forehead against 
the trunk of a tree, the blood throbbed so in her 
temples. 

“And if it is so, if they do say such things be- 
hind my back — ” she gasped, but she could not 
finish; a sudden mist seemed to cloud and confuse 
all her thoughts. 

Vincenz gave her time to recover herself; he 
knew what it must be to her, for he knew her pride. 
After a time he said, 

“Look here, it seems to me thou’d best come 
with me to the dance; that were the best way to 
stop peoples’ mouths.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


199 


Wally drew herself up. “I go with no lad to 
the dance that I don’t mean to marry — that I tell 
thee once for all!” she said. 

“If I was thee, I’d sooner marry Vincenz Gellner 
than die an old maid for love of Hagenbach,” said 
Vincenz sneeringly. 

Wally looked at him with newly-awakened 
aversion. “I wonder thou’rt not tired of that,” 
she said; “when thou knows well it’s all of no 
good.” 

“Wally, I ask thee for the last time, can thou 
not bring thyself to think of me as a husband?” 

“Never — never! sooner will I die,” she said. 

Vincenz’ sharp and prominent cheek bones-be- 
came white spots on his yellow face; he looked, 
almost like the vulture, glancing sideways at Wally, 
as at some defenceless prey. “I’m sorry, Wally,” 
he said, “but I’ve somewhat to say to thee — some- 
thing that I’d fain have spared thee, but thou 
forces me to it. I’ve given thee a twelvemonth, 
and now I must speak.” He drew a written sheet 
of paper from his pocket. “It’s nigh upon a year 
since thy father died, and if thou doesn’t marry 
me at the year’s end thy right to the farm is 
over.” 

Wally stared at him. 

He unfolded the paper. “Here’s thy father’s 


200 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


will, by which he appoints that if thou don’t marry 
me by a twelvemonth after his death, the farm and 
all belonging to it is mine, and thou gets no more 
than he was bound by law to leave thee. There’ll 
be an end then of the proud peasant-mistress. As 
yet, no one knows of this. Thou can turn it over 
once more, and in the end I fancy thou’ll give in, 
sooner than go with me before the justices, and 
have the will carried out.” 

Wally stood still, and measured Vincenz from 
head to foot with a single glance of cold con- 
tempt, then said with perfect calmness: “Oh thou 
pitiful fool! In this net then thou’st thought to 
catch the Vulture-maiden? You are a pair, thou 
and my father, but neither one nor the other of 
you knew me. What do I care for money or pro- 
perty? That which I want cannot be bought with 
gold, and so I care nothing for it. On Monday will 
I pack up my things, and go away again, for thy 
guest I’ll never be — no, not for an hour. And if 
it gives me pain to leave this farm , where I first 
saw the light — still, I’ve been no happier as mistress 
than when I minded the cattle — and as much a 
stranger here as there. So it’s all for the best, 
and I’ll leave the place, and go away as far as I 
can.” 

Calmly she turned towards the house. A wild 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


201 


anguish seized Vincenz; he threw himself at her 
feet, and clasped her knees. “I never meant that,” 
he cried, “thou mustn’t go away, — for God’s sake, 
don’t serve me so — what do I want with the farm? I 
only meant — my God, my God — only to try every- 
thing!” With one hand he held Wally fast, with 
the other he thrust the paper into his mouth, and 
tore it with his teeth. “There, there, see, there 
goes the scrawl — I’ll have none of the farm, if 
thou’ll not stay — there — there — ” he strewed the 
fragments to the wind, “I want nothing — nothing- 
only don’t thou serve me so — don’t go away!” 

Wally looked at him in wonder. “I pity thee, 
Vincenz, but I cannot help thee — no more than 
I myself am helped. Keep thou the farm and all 
that belongs to it; my father left it to thee, and 
that remains the same, although thou hast torn up 
the will — I’ll take nothing as a gift from thee. 
Everything here is hateful to me, even now — 
why should I wait? No one is any good to me, 
nor I to any one. I’ll take my Hansl, and go 
up again to the mountain— that is where I belong. 
But if I might ask thee one thing — tell no one till 
I’m gone that the farm was never mine; for thou 
seest — there’s one thing I cannot bear — that folk 
should make fun of me. That — that drives me 
mad. Think of the pointing, and the scorn when 


202 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


they know that the proud Wally Stromminger has 
been turned out of house and home like a maid- 
servant — I couldn’t live through it. Let me at 
least go forth as mistress.” 

“Wally,” cried Vincenz, “where thou goest, I 
will go. Thou cannot hinder me — the roads are 
free to all, and he who will, may run. If thou’rt 
resolved to leave — I go with thee.” 

Wally looked at him with amazement, as he 
stood there raving before her, and she shuddered 
as though she had raised some evil spirit. “What 
will come of it all?” she murmured helplessly. 

At this moment the messenger from Solden 
was seen coming across the meadows from the 
house straight towards Wally. He had a big nosegay 
in his hat and in his Sunday-coat, like a bridal 
messenger. 

“He’s come to bid thee to Joseph and Afra’s 
wedding,” cried Vincenz with a wild laugh. Wally’s 
foot stumbled against something; she caught hold 
of Vincenz, and he seized her round the waist and 
held her. 

Meanwhile the messenger came up, and took 
off his hat to Wally. “Good day to thee, Mistress. 
Joseph Hagenbach sends thee friendly greeting, and 
asks thee to the dance on St. Peter’s Day. If it’s 
thy pleasure, he will come up at noon and fetch 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 203 

thee down to the Stag. Thou’lt send an answer 
by me.” 

If Heaven itself had opened before Wally, and 
Hell before Vincenz, it would have been much the 
same thing. 

Then it was not true about Afra! He had come 
to Wally — he had come after five years of sorrow 
and suffering — at last, at last! The word was 
spoken — the winds bore it triumphantly onwards, 
the breezes echoed it back again, the white glaciers 
smiled at it in the evening sunshine; Joseph the 
Bear-hunter bade the Vulture-maiden to the dance! 
The labourers in the field shouted, the waggons 
swayed beneath their loads, the vulture on the roof 
flapped his wings for joy — the two who belonged 
to one another were come together at last! 

Joy to all mankind: the race of giants would 
live again in this one pair. And smiling graciously, 
like a Queen beneath the myrtle crown, Wally 
bowed her beautiful head and told the messenger, 
half-bashfully, that she should expect Joseph. 

Vincenz leaned against a tree, distorted, faded, 
mute — a ghost of the past. 

Wally threw him a compassionate glance — he 
was no longer to be dreaded: she bore a charmed 
life, none could hurt or harm her more. She 


204 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


hastened into the house, and the servants looked 
at her wonderingly, such rapture lay in her ex- 
pression. But she could not stay indoors; she took 
money, and went through the village like a bliss- 
bestowing fairy. She entered all the poorest huls, 
and gave with liberal hand out of that which she 
could rightfully and lawfully call her own,* for she 
had decided irrevocably that the farm should be- 
long to Yincenz. She was still rich enough to give 
to Joseph, and to all around her — even her rightful 
share of Stromminger’s estate was a fortune. She 
must do good to all; she could not bear alone her 
newly-learnt, immeasurable happiness. 

The two days before St. Peter’s festival were 
like a fairy tale to all the villagers. Who could 
now recognize the morose and bitter Vulture- 
maiden in the beatified girl who moved about as 
though borne on invisible wings? It had needed 
but this one ray of sunshine, and the hail-stricken, 
frost-bitten blossom had sprung up again. An in- 
exhaustible power made itself felt in her bosom, a 
power for love as for hatred, for joy as for pain, 
for self-sacrifice as for defiance. All around her 
breathed more freely; it was as though a spell had 
been taken off them since Wally’s dark repining 

* In most foreign countries the law provides that a certain portion of a 
man’s estate is inalienable from his natural heirs. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 205 

spirit, that had weighed like a storm-cloud upon 
everything, had melted away. 

“When one is as happy as I am, every one else 
should rejoice too,” she said; and soon it was 
known everywhere that it was because Joseph had 
asked her to the dance — which was almost the 
same as asking her in marriage — that Wally was so 
changed. Why should she conceal it, when in so 
few days it would be known? why should she deny 
that she loved him with all her heart, above every- 
thing? he deserved it all, and he loved her in return, 
or he would not be coming to fetch her to the 
dance. It was well for her that she dared to show 
all that she felt. If she met a child she took it in 
her arms, and told it how, on St. Peter’s Day, 
Joseph the bear-hunter was coming — Joseph, who 
had slain the great bear, and saved the innkeeper’s 
little Lieserl from the mad bull, and how they would 
all open their eyes, he was so tall, and so beautiful 
to look at — they had never seen such a man, for 
there was not such another in all the wide world. 
The children were quite excited, and played all 
day at Bear and Joseph the bear-hunter. Then 
she joked with Hansl, threatening him playfully. 
“Thou’rt to behave thyself when Joseph comes, else 
something will happen — that I can tell thee!” and 
Klettenmaier and all the best of the servants had 


206 the vulture-maiden. 

new holiday-clothes — they knew well enough the 
reason why; but Wally let them chatter as they 
would about it, and was not angry. 

Then again she would sit for hours quietly in 
her room, doing nothing, wondering only how it 
had happened that Joseph had so suddenly changed 
his mind; but however much she thought and 
thought she could not understand why the unhoped- 
for happiness, so sudden, so full, so complete, had 
come upon her; and she looked up at her holy 
images, no longer with enmity, but with friendly 
eyes, and thanked them for all the good that they 
had brought to her. But when she looked at the 
cards that were nailed up above her bed, she 
laughed aloud. “Well, what do you now say? 
Own that you knew nothing of what was coming !” 
and like enchanted spirits that no liberating spell 
can call forth again into the light, the secrets of 
the future stared unintelligibly at her from these 
mute tokens. If only old Luckard had been there, 
she could have told what it was the cards replied 
to Wally — but to her they were dumb, like a cipher 
of which the key is lost. If Luckard had been alive, 
how rejoiced she would have been! Wally would 
have liked to lie down and sleep till the day of the 
festival, so that the time might not appear so long. 
But there was no question of sleep; she could not 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


207 


even close an eye by day or by night for impatience. 
She was always counting, “Now so many hours 
more — now so many — ” 

At last the day was come. After breakfast 
Wally went to her room, and washed herself, and 
combed her hair without end. Once more she was 
a woman — a girl! Once more she stood before 
the glass, and adorned herself, and looked to see if 
she were fair, if she might hope to find favour in 
Joseph’s eyes; and once more she had procured a 
new necklace, even more beautiful than the first, 
and filigree pins for her hair as well. The box 
was on the table before her, she took out the orna- 
ment, and tied it above her bodice; the bright sil- 
ver was as white as the snowy pleated sleeves of her 
chemise and tinkled like clear marriage-bells, and 
through the rose-coloured chintz curtains a dim 
rosy light shed a tender mist of bridal-glow over 
the girl’s noble figure. When she was ready, she 
took from its case a meerschaum pipe heavy with 
silver, such as no peasant of the country had far 
and wide — a really splendid pipe — and yet she 
held it long in her hand, doubting whether it were 
good enough for Joseph. And still there was some- 
thing else, that she took out slowly, almost timidly, 
looking at the door to see if it were securely 
fastened; it was a small round box, and in it there 


208 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


lay — a ring. She trembled as she took it out, and 
a tear of unutterable joy and thankfulness glistened 
in her eye. She held the ring in her folded hands, 
and for the first time for many days she knelt 
down, and she prayed over it that the beloved one 
might be linked to her for ever. And she no 
longer heard the rustle of her silks, and the tinkle 
of her silver ornaments; she was lost in the pas- 
sionate fervour of her prayers ; she pressed forward 
as it were to the presence of God with the vehe- 
mence of a thankful child whose father has granted 
its warmest desire. 

“The mistress will never have done with dress- 
ing herself to-day,” said the maids outside, as Wally 
did not appear. 

Already the peasants were flocking to the Stag. 
Whoever had feet to go on, and Sunday-clothes to 
go in, would be there to-day, for the whole village 
was stirred by the great event of the peasant- 
mistress going to the dance with Joseph Hagen- 
bach. The road swarmed with people, and the 
landlord of the Stag had done his best, and sent 
for musicians to come from Imst. 

The upper maid-servant stood at the dormer- 
window above, and looked down the road by which 
Joseph must come. Wally stood ready dressed in 
her room; her heart beat like a sledge-hammer, her 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


209 


cheeks glowed, her hands were icy-cold, she held 
her white neatly-folded handkerchief pressed tightly 
to her heart — it had been her mother's wedding 
handkerchief. The pipe and the ring for Joseph 
she had hidden away in her pocket; so she waited 
motionless whilst the minutes passed by, and this 
silent pause of expectation, in which her breath al- 
most failed her for impatience, was certainly one of 
the hardest experiences of her life. 

“They’re coming, they’re coming!” cried the 
maid at last. “Joseph and a crowd of other lads 
from Zwieselstein and Solden, and the landlord of 
the Lamb — it’s a regular procession!” 

Everyone ran out into the courtyard; already 
the noise of the approaching steps and voices could 
be heard in Wally’s room. She came out, and a 
general “Ah!” of admiration broke from all as she 
appeared. 

At the same moment the procession approached 
the farm-gate, Joseph at its head. She went for- 
ward to meet him, modestly but with the beaming 
loftiness of a bride who is proud of her bride- 
groom — proud to have been chosen by such a 
man. 

“Joseph, art thou there?” she said, and her 
voice sounded soft and loving as she had never 
spoken before. Joseph glanced at her with a strange, 

The Vulture-Maiden. *4 


2 10 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN* 

almost a shamefaced look, and then cast his eyes 
down again. 

Wally was startled — was it on purpose, or was 
it by accident? Joseph had placed his black-cock 
feather upside down, as the young men are in 
the habit of doing when they seek a quarrel. It 
could only have happened from an oversight to- 
day! 

Every one stood round and watched her; she 
was so anxious that she could say no more, and 
he also was silent. She looked at him with eyes 
full of fervent moisture, but his avoided hers. 
He was as much embarrassed as she was, she 
thought. 

“Come,” he said at last, and offered his hand. 
She laid hers in it, and they silently walked as far 
as the Stag. The strangers and all the servants 
closed the procession. 

As, sometimes, when we have gazed at the sun, 
all grows black before us, even in full daylight, so 
now with Wally in the midst of her happiness, all 
suddenly grew dark to her soul. She knew not 
how it was; she was bewildered and hardly knew 
herself — it was all so different from what she had 
imagined. 

A noisy countrydance was beginning as they en- 
tered the Stag, and as Wally passed down the long 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


21 I 


rows of dancers with Joseph, she heard the people 
say: “There is not a handsomer couple in the whole 
world.” She now saw for the first time how many 
strangers had come with Joseph, and that all her 
rejected suitors were there also. Once more she 
silently compared them with Joseph, and she could 
truly say there was not one of them who came 
up to him for stature and beauty. He was a king 
among the peasants, a mortal of quite another 
stamp to the ordinary, men who stood around him, 
and her eye rested with silent delight on the tall 
figure, from his broad chest down to his slender 
knees and ankles. Any one seeing him thus must 
surely understand that him only would she have, 
and none other. 

As she looked round, her glance met two 
piercing black eyes directed like daggers at Joseph. 
It was Vincenz, wedged in among the crowd. And 
not far off was another melancholy face — that of 
Benedict Klotz, who observed her thoughtfully. As 
she passed him, he pulled her gently back by 
the sleeve. “Mind what thou’rt about, Wally,” he 
whispered, “there’s some plot against thee — I don’t 
know what, but I forebode no good.” 

Wally shrugged her shoulders carelessly. What 
harm could happen to her, when Joseph was at her 
side? 




212 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


The sets formed for the dance, and Joseph and 
Wally were to begin; every one wanted to see 
them dance together. No couple had yet been 
watched with such envious eyes as this well- 
dressed, distinguished-looking pair. Joseph, how- 
ever, moved away from Wally’s side, and stood 
before her with something of solemnity in his 
air. 

“Wally,” he said aloud, and the music stopped 
at a sign from the host of the Lamb, who stood 
behind them, “I hope that before we dance to- 
gether, thou’lt give me the kiss that no one of thy 
suitors has yet been able to win from thee?” 

Wally coloured and said softly, “But not here 
Joseph, not before everyone.” 

“Precisely here, before everyone,” said Joseph, 
with strong emphasis. 

For a moment Wally struggled between desire 
and sweet embarrassment; to kiss a man before all 
these people was to her chaste and half-defiant 
spirit a severe humiliation. But there he stood be- 
fore her, the man so dear to her heart; the moment 
for which she would joyfully have given a year of 
her life — nay her life itself — was there, and should 
she reject it for the sake of a few bystanders who 
could do her no harm, if she did kiss her bride- 
groom? She raised her beautiful face to his, and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


213 

his eyes were fixed for a moment on the full and 
blooming lips that approached his own. Then with 
an involuntary movement, he pushed her gently 
from him, saying softly, 

“Nay, not so; a true hunter shoots his game 
only on the spring or on the wing — that I told thee 
once before. The kiss Fll wrest from thee, not 
take it as a gift. And were I a maid like thee, I’d 
give myself away less cheaply. Defend thyself, 
Wally, that I may win no easier than the others, 
else my honour is lost.” 

A scarlet blush overspread Wally’s face; she 
could have sunk into the ground for shame. Had 
she then so completely forgotten what she owed to 
herself, that her lover must remind her of it? She 
was crimson to her very eyes— it was as though a 
wave of blood were surging to her brain. Drawing 
herself up to her full height, with one flaming 
glance she measured herself with him. “Good,” 
she said, “thou shalt have thy will — thou also shalt 
learn to know the Vulture-maiden. Look to thy- 
self, whether now thou’lt get the kiss!” 

She was almost suffocated. She tore off her 
neckerchief and stood there in her silver-clasped 
velvet bodice and white linen chemise, so that 
Joseph’s eyes rested in amazement on her beautiful 
bare neck. “Thou’rt handsome — as handsome as 


4 


214 THE vulture-maiden. 

thou’rt wicked,” he muttered, and springing on her, 
as a hunter springs on a wild animal to give the 
death-blow, he threw his strong arms round her 
neck. But he did not know the Vulture-maiden. 
With one powerful wrench she was free, and there 
was a laugh of derision from all those with whom 
it had fared no better, that maddened Joseph. He 
seized her round the waist with arms of iron, but 
she struck him such a blow on the heart, that he 
cried out and staggered backwards. Renewed 
laughter! With this blow, of which she knew the 
value, she had always defended herself against 
her importunate suitors, for none had held out 
after it. But Joseph smothered his pain, and with 
redoubled fury threw himself again on the girl, 
seized her by the arms with both hands, and so 
tried to approach her lips; but in an instant she 
bent herself down on one side, and now ensued a 
breathless struggle up and down, to and fro, an 
oppressive silence broken only by an occasional 
oath from Joseph. The girl bowed and twisted 
herself hither and thither like a snake in his arms, 
so that he could never reach her mouth. It was 
no longer a strife for love — it was a struggle for 
life and death. Three times he had got her down 
to the ground, three times she sprang up again; he 
lifted her in his arms, but she always twisted her- 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


215 


self round, and he could not touch her lips. Her 
fine linen hung in rags, her silver necklace was 
all broken to pieces. Suddenly she freed herself, 
and flew to the doorway; he overtook her, and like 
a stormwind tore her back into his arms. It was a 
fierce and glowing embrace. His breath floated 
round her like hot steam; she lay on his breast; 
she felt his heart beat against her own; her strength 
left her, she fell on her knees before him, and said, 
as if fainting with pain, and shame, and love, 
“Thou hast me!” 

“Ah!” a heavy sigh broke from Joseph. “You' 
have all of you seen it?” he asked aloud — he bent 
down and pressed his mouth upon her hot and 
quivering lips. A loud hurrah filled the room. 
She got up and sank almost senseless on his 
breast. 

“Stay!” he said in a hard voice, and stepped 
back a little, “one kiss is enough — no need of 
more. Thou’st seen now that I can master thee — 
and no further will I go.” 

Wally stared at him, as if she could not 
understand his words. She was of an ashy pale- 
ness. 

“Joseph,” she stammered, “why then art thou 
come?” 

“Didst think I had come to woo thee?” he an- 


216 the vulture-maiden. 

swered. “Lately at the procession thou’st said before 
everyone that Afra was my sweetheart, because she 
was so easy to be had, — and that Joseph the bear- 
slayer had not the heart to try and win the Vul- 
ture- Wally. Didst truly think a lad with any spirit 
in him would let such things be said of him and 
of an honest girl? I only wished to show thee 
that I can master thee as I can a bear, or a mad 
bull, and the kiss I have won from thee, that will I 
take to Afra, as a kiss of atonement for the wrong 
that thou hast done her. Now take heed to thy- 
self another time when thy haughty temper moves 
thee. Henceforth, perhaps, thou’ll forego the plea- 
sure of holding up a poor and honest girl to scorn 
and derision — now that thou’st felt what it is to be 
a laughing-stock thyself.” 

A shout of laughter from all sides closed Jo- 
seph’s speech, but he turned with displeasure from 
the applause. “You have seen that I’ve kept my 
word,” he said, “and now I must go to Zwiesel- 
stein to comfort Afra. The good soul wept to 
think that I should play the peasant-mistress such 
a shabby trick. God keep you all.” 

He went, but they all ran after him; it had 
been too good a joke. Joseph was something like 
a man. He had shown the proud peasant-mistress 
that she had a master. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


217 


“It will do her good!” 

“It will serve her right!” 

“Joseph, that’s the best day’s work thou’s ever 
done.” 

“No one’ll have anything to do with her, when 
this is known.” 

Thus laughed the chorus of rejected suitors, as 
they crowded joyfully round Joseph. 

The dancing-floor was deserted — only two 
persons remained with Wally, Vincenz and Bene- 
dict. Wally stood still in the same place and did 
not stir; it was as if she were lifeless. 

Vincenz watched her with folded arms. Bene- 
dict went up to her and took her gently by the 
arm. “Wally, don’t take it so to heart — we are 
here, and we’ll get satisfaction for thee. Wally — 
speak. What shall we do? we are all ready, only 
say what thou’d have us to do.” 

Then she turned round, her large eyes had a 
ghostly gleam in them, her face was ghastly pale. 
She opened and closed her lips once or twice, 
one word there was she struggled to utter, but it 
seemed as if the breath to speak it failed her. At 
last she brought it out, as from the very depths 
of her being, — more a cry than a word: “Dead 
would I have him!” 


218 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Benedict drew back. “God forbid, Wally!” he 
said. 

But Vincenz stepped forward with flashing eyes. 
“Wally, art thou in earnest?” 

“Ay, in bloody earnest!” She lifted her hand 
at the oath, her hand was quite stiff and the nails 
blue, as in one dead. “He who lays him dead at 
his Afra’s feet — him will I marry, as truly as I am 
Wallburga Stromminger.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


219 


CHAPTER XII. 

In the Night. 

All through the night a strange and measured 
sound was audible throughout the silent, sleeping 
farm-house. Now and then the maids awoke and 
listened, without knowing what they heard, then 
turned to sleep again. The boards cracked and the 
beams trembled, slightly but unceasingly. 

It was Wally who paced backwards and for- 
wards with heavy, unpausing steps, her sinking 
heart engaged in a death-struggle with herself, with 
Fate, with Providence. All around was shattered 
— her clothes flung about the room, on the floor the 
carved St. Wallburga, the crucifix, the holy images, 
all broken to fragments in impotent wrath. 

She had half-undressed, and her hair fell loose 
and disordered on her bare shoulders. A red 
gleaming pine-torch flickered in its socket, and in 
the trembling shadows the features of the broken 
figure of Christ looking distorted and living. She 
stayed her steps, and looked down on the fragments. 

“Ay, thou may grin,” she said, “thou’s always 
taken me for a fool. You’re of no good, none of 


220 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


you; idols you are of wood and paper, and no help 
to any one. Neither prayer nor curse can you hear. 
And them for whom you stand, hide themselves, 
God knows where, and would laugh if they could 
see how we kneel down before a piece of wood.” 
And she pushed the fragments under the bed, that 
they might not be in her way as she walked to 
and fro. 

A shot was heard in the distance. 

Wally stood still and listened; all was silent. 
She must have fancied it. Why should the sound 
have taken her breath away? She was not even sure 
that it was a shot. The thought flashed through her 
like lightning, “Suppose Yincenz should have shot 
Joseph!” It was mere folly, Joseph was safe at home 
-—or perhaps at Zwieselstein with his Afra! 

She beat her head against the wall in nameless 
agony at the thought, and pictures rose before her 
that drove her frantic. If only he were dead — dead 
so that she need never think of him again! She 
flung the window open that she might breathe 
more freely. 

Hansl, who was asleep on a tree outside the 
window, woke up and fluttered in half-stupid with 
sleep. “Ah, thou!” cried Wally, and stretched out 
her arms to him; she clasped him to her breast, he 
was all — all that was left to her in the world. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


22 


Again — a second shot, and this time distinctly in 
the direction of Zwieselstein; she let go of the vul- 
ture, and pressed her hand to her heart, as though 
she herself had been struck. Why this terror? The 
trifling incident had suddenly brought before her the 
whole terrible deed which yesterday she had sworn 
to. She could not help thinking again and again 
how it would be if the shot she had just heard had 
shattered Joseph’s head, and a wild and frenzied joy 
came upon her. Now he belonged to her only, now 
none other could claim his kiss, and as she thought 
upon it, it seemed to her as though it had really 
happened; she saw him lying on the ground in his 
blood, she knelt down by him, she took his head in 
her lap, she kissed the pale face — the beautiful pale 
face — she saw it actually before her. And then sud- 
denly pity overwhelmed her for the poor, dead man, 
a burning, unutterable pity; she called him by every 
loving name, she shook him, she chafed his hands 
— in vain, he was no more. Unspeakable anguish 
filled her soul; no, this must not be, he must not 
die — sooner would she part with her own life! 

She felt as if an icy cramp had been grasping and 
crushing her heart, so that no warm human blood 
could flow in her veins, and that now the grip was 
at last relaxed and the hot flood streaming into her 
heart again. She must go out, she must see whether 


222 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Vincenz was at home, she must speak to him at 
once, before daybreak, she must tell him that the 
ghastly deed must not be done — she was in a fever, 
all her pulses throbbed. She had desired the deed, 
commanded it, but already the idea that it might 
have been done, extinguished her wrath — and she 
forgave. 

She threw a neckerchief on her shoulders, and 
hastened across the courtyard and through the gar- 
den to Vincenz’ house. What would he, what would 
everyone think of her? It was all one — what did 
it matter now? 

She reached the house. There was a light in 
Vincenz’ room on the groundfloor; noiselessly she 
glided up, she could see through the parted curtains 
— her heart stood still — the room was empty, the 
pine-torch almost burnt away. She went round the 
house; the door was unfastened, she opened it softly 
and went in. All was still as death, the men and 
maids fast asleep; she crept through the whole house, 
nothing stirred — Vincenz was away! The blood 
curdled in her veins; she went into his bedroom, the 
bed was disturbed — he must have laid himself down, 
then risen again; his Sunday clothes were hanging 
up, but his work-day clothes were missing, nor was 
his hat in its place. She looked into the sitting-room; 
the nail where his rifle usually hung was empty. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


223 


Wally stood as if paralysed; she never knew 
how she got outside the house again. At the door 
she dropped on to a bench; her feet would carry 
her no further. She tried to reassure herself: most 
likely, restless as he was, he had gone out after 
some night game — what could he do to Joseph, 
quietly asleep somewhere — she shivered — on a soft 
pillow? And by day when everyone was up and 
about, nobody could touch or harm him. 

It was her evil conscience that pursued her with 
these terrors, and she hid her face in her hands. 
“Wally, Wally, what art thou become?” Shamed, 
scorned, degraded in the eyes of men, and a sinner 
in the eyes of God. Where was water enough to 
purify her? Down below, there rushed the torrent — 
that — yes, that would clear her from every stain; 
if she threw herself into that cold flood, all would 
be washed away, her sorrow and her guilt — the 
whole unblest existence created only to horror and 
to strife at once done away with — annihilated. Yes, 
that were redemption — why did she hesitate? Away 
with the useless shell that held the soul in fetters 
of guilt and suffering! She started up, but she could 
not move, she fell back upon the bench. Was this 
down-trodden, deadened spirit still held to life then 
by some invisible thread? 

There, God be praised! a footstep on the grass. 


224 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


There came Vincenz. Now she could speak with 
him; all might yet be well. 

“Saints above us!” exclaimed Vincenz, as she 
went forward to meet him, “is it thou?” He gazed 
at her as if she were a spirit. Wally saw in the 
morning twilight that he was pale and disturbed. 
His gun was on his shoulder. 

“Vincenz,” she said in a low voice, “hast thou 
shot anything?” 

“Aye.” 

“What?” She looked at his game-bag, it was 
empty. 

“Noble game,” he whispered. 

Wally shivered. “Where is it?” 

“He lies in the Ache!” 

Wally seized him by the arm, in her eyes was a 
gleam of frenzy. “Who?” she said. 

“Dost need to ask?” 

“Joseph!” she cried, and staggered back against 
the wall. 

“It was a hard job,” said Vincenz, wiping his 
brow; “I never thought he’d have come so soon 
within shot. The devil knows what brought him out 
and about by night. I thought I’d get up early, so 
as to be down in Solden before he was stirring, and 
at the first step he walks right into my hands. But 
it was still so dark that the first shot missed, and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


225 


the second only grazed him, but he must have 
turned giddy, for he stumbled on the bridge, and 
held on by the railing. I made the best of the 
chance, — I sprang behind him and pushed him over 
the rail.” 

A groan like a death-rattle burst from Wally, 
and as a vulture swoops upon his prey, she flew at 
Vincenz and seized his throat with both hands. 
“Thou liest, Vincenz, thou, liest — it is not true, it 
cannot be — say it is not true, or I'll murder 
thee” 

“On my soul, it’s true; — didst suppose Vincenz 
7 d think twice when there was ought to do for 
thee?” 

“Oh murder! most cruel and dastardly murder , 77 
sobbed Wally, trembling from head to foot, “so 
underhand, so cowardly, so base — that I never 
meant; in fair fight I meant that he should die. 
Cursed be thou in time and in eternity! — outcast 
and accursed now and hereafter. What can I do 
to thee? With tooth and nail thou ought to be 
torn in pieces . 77 

“So these are the thanks I get?” said Vincenz 
between his teeth. “Did not thou bid me do it?” 

“And if I did — what then? Was that a rea- 
son?” cried Wally wildly, “often one says in anger 
what afterwards one rues in bitterness. Could 

15 


The Vulture- Maiden, 


226 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


thou not wait till I had come to myself again 
after the awful shock? Joseph, Joseph! — wild and 
wicked I may be, but no murderess. Oh, why 
could thou not wait, only a few hours? Thy 
own wickedness it was that drove thee on, and 
thou could never rest till thou had worked it out.” 

“That’s right, lay it all on me,” growled Vin- 
cenz; “and yet thou’s thy share in the mischief 
too.” 

“Aye,” said Wally, “I have — and with thee I’ll 
atone for it. For us two no mercy remains. Blood 
cries for blood — ” She ground her teeth, and 
seizing Vincenz by the collar, dragged him for- 
ward with her.* 

“Wally, leave go of me! — what dost thou want? 
My God, are these the thanks I get? Mercy — 
Wally, thou’rt choking me — where art thou dragging 
me to?” 

“To where we two belong,” was the gloomy 
answer, and on she went as though borne by a 
whirlwind, up the ascent, on to the bridge where 
the sheer precipice overhangs the torrent — where 
the deed was done. “Down,” was the one fear- 
ful word she thundered in his ear, “we two — to- 
gether.” 

“God above us!” shrieked Vincenz in terror, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


227 


“thou swore that if I did the deed thou’d be my 
wife, and now wilt thou murder me?” 

Wally laughed her fearful laugh of scorn. “Thou 
fool, when I fling myself down yonder with thee, 
shall not we two be together to all eternity? will 
thou try to save thy wolfish life?” And with the 
strength of a giant she grasped him in her arms, 
and hurried him forward to the low parapet that 
she might throw herself with him into the twilight 
gloom of the abyss. 

“Help!” shrieked Vincenz involuntarily, and — 

“Help!” sounded feebly, ghostly, like an echo 
from the depths. 

Wally stood as if turned to stone and let go 
her hold of Vincenz. What was that? Some 
mocking goblin? “Did thou hear it?” she said to 
Vincenz. 

“It was the echo,” he said, and his teeth 
chattered. 

“Hark — again!” 

“Help!” sounded once more like a passing 
breath from the abyss. 

“All good spirits be praised, it is he — he lives 
— he is clinging somewhere — he calls for help! 
Yes — I am coming, Joseph, only wait, Joseph — I am 
coming!” she shouted out with a voice like a 
trumpet into the depths, and with a voice like a 

15* 


22 8 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


trumpet-call she hailed the sleeping village as she 
flew along the street, knocking at every door. 
“Help, help — a man is perishing, save him — help, 
for God’s sake, help — it’s life or death!” And at 
the cry everyone sprang from his bed, and threw 
open the windows. 

“What is it? what’s the matter?” 

“It’s Joseph Hagenbacn — he’s fallen into the 
ravine,” cried Wally, “ropes — bring ropes — only 
come quick — it may already be too late — it may 
perhaps be too late by the time we get there.” 

She flew like the wind, home to the farm, into 
the barn, collected all the ropes that were there, 
and knotted them together with trembling hands; 
but all she could tie together, ropes and lines and 
cords, were still not enough to reach into the 
depths where he lay — God only knew where. 

Meanwhile the men came running together half- 
incredulous, half-amazed at the terrible news, and 
brought with them ropes, and hooks and lanterns 
— for it seemed as if to-day it would never be 
light — and there was questioning and advising and 
helpless bewilderment, for in the memory of man 
no one had ever fallen over the cliff, and here on 
the broad Plateau they were not provided with 
ready means of rescue as they are in places where 
the dizzy precipices and yawning clefts and chasms 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


229 


every year demand their victims. Thus they came 
at last to the spot, and a chill terror seized even 
the most cold-blooded as they bent over the rail- 
ing, and looked down into the mysterious depths 
of the abyss in which nothing could be seen but 
the surging mists that rose up from the water. 
Vincenz had disappeared; all was solitary and 
silent as death far and wide, above and below. 
Wally gave a halloo so shrill that the air trembled; 
all listened with suspended breath — no answer. 

“Joseph — where art thou?” she cried once 
more with a voice in whose tone the anguish of 
all suffering and desperate humanity seemed con- 
centrated. All was still. 

“He doesn’t answer — he is dead!” sobbed 
Wally, and threw herself in despair upon the earth. 
“Now all is over!” 

“Perhaps he’s lost his senses, or is too weak to 
answer,” said old Klettenmaier consolingly, then 
whispered in her ear. “Mistress, think of all the 
people.” 

She raised herself and pushed her disordered 
hair off her forehead. “Tie the ropes together; 
don’t stand there doing nothing — what are you 
waiting for?” The men looked at her doubtingly. 
“We must at least try if he’s not to be found,” 
said Klettenmaier. 


230 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


The men shook their heads, but began to fasten 
the cords together. “Who will let himself down by 
the rope?” they said. 

“Who?” said Wally. Her black eyes flashed 
out of her pale face. “I will!” she said. 

“Thou, Wally— thou’s out of thy senses — the 
rope will scarce bear one, much less two.” 

“It need bear only one,” said Wally gloomily, 
and seized the rope that it might be done 
quicker. 

“It's impossible, Wally — thou’ll have to tie thy- 
self and him to it to come up again,” said the 
men, dropping their arms helplessly; “the only 
thing to do is to send into the villages, and collect 
more ropes — ” 

“And meanwhile he’ll fall to the bottom if he’s 
lost his senses, and all will be too late,” cried 
Wally desperately. “I’ll not wait till more comes 
— give it me here — unwind the rope, and see how 
long it is — go on — unwind!” She shook out the 
coils of rope, and tried its length and strength; 
involuntarily the men took hold of it again, they 
unwound the huge coil, the preparations began to 
take shape and order. The men stepped out to 
make a chain. “It may reach far enough, but it’ll 
never bear two.” 

“If it won’t bear two, I’ll send him up alone. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


231 


Where he has room to lie, I shall have room to 
stand. As soon as Fve found a footing, I’ll untie 
myself, and tie the rope round him; then draw 
him up, and I can wait till the rope comes down 
again — ” 

“Nay — that won’t do — if he’s weak or senseless 
he can’t be pulled up alone; he’ll be dashed and 
crushed against the cliff if there’s no one with him 
to hold him off.” 

Wally stood as if thunderstruck — she had not 
thought of that. Again, then, she was thwarted — 
she was not to reach him, except down yonder, per- 
haps, in the cold bed of the Ache! The rope 
would not bear two, that she herself could see. 
“In the name of God,” she said at last, and in spite 
of the fever that shook her, she stood there dignified 
and commanding in her firm resolve. She tied the 
rope round her waist, and took her Alpenstock in 
her hand. “Let me down, that I may at least seek 
him. If I find him, I’ll stay with him and support 
him till you’ve brought another rope, and let it 
down to us. I’ll wait patiently down there, even if 
I’ve to wait for hours hanging between earth and 
heaven till the other rope can come.” 

Old Klettenmaier fell on his knees before her. 
“Wally, Wally, don’t thou do it, they all say the 
rope isn’t safe. If it must be done, let me go — what 


232 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

does my old life matter? If I can do no good, at 
least thou’ll see if the rope holds, and if it breaks, 
it’ll only be me that’s killed — not thee.” 

“Aye, Wally, hear him,” said another, “he’s in 
the right; don’t thou go. Only wait, bethink thyself 
a little till help comes from the villages.” 

Wally threw up her arms, so that they all fell 
back. “When I was but a child, I did not wait to 
think before I took the vulture from its nest down 
the precipice — and shall I wait now when I go to 
seek Joseph? Speak no more to me — I will, I must 
go to him. Now — step back, unwind, hold fast!” 
And even as she spoke, she had sprung over the 
railing, whilst the men who formed the chain had to 
hold back with all their might, so great was the 
strain upon the rope. 

“God Almighty help us,” said Klettenmaier 
crossing himself, then ran off, as if Wally’s words 
had reminded him of something. All gazed after 
her with horror as she slowly sank lower and lower 
into the sea of mist till it had swallowed her up 
and closed over her, never perhaps to be seen again. 
All stood speechless round the spot where she had 
disappeared, as round a grave; the tightly-strained 
rope alone gave intelligence of the movements of 
the death-defying diver in this sea of clouds, and 
on it every eye was fixed — would it break? — would 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


233 


it bear? And each time one of the hastily-tied knots 
was paid out, every heart beat louder — “Would it 
hold?” 

The beads of sweat fell from the brows of the 
men who formed the chain, and involuntarily each 
tried once more the knots on which a human life 
depended. So passed minute after minute, heavy 
as lead, — as if time also were bound to some rope 
that dark powers refused to let go. Still the rope 
strained and swayed, still she must be hanging to 
it; she had not yet found a footing. 

“It’s coming to an end,” cried the last man of 
the chain, “it’s not long enough.” 

“God help us!” they all cried together, “not 
long enough!” 

Only a few yards remained, and still no sign 
from below that Wally’s end was attained. The 
men pressed together as close as they could to the 
edge of the precipice, paying out as much of the 
rope as they dared. If it were not long enough; — 
if all had been in vain; — if they should be obliged 
to draw up the hapless Wally, to set forth once 
more on the way of death! 

There — there, the rope is suddenly loosened — it 
is slack — a fearful moment! Has it given way, or 
has its burden touched the ground? 

The women pray aloud, the children cry. The 


2 34 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


men begin slowly to pull in, but only a little way — 
the rope is tight again. It is not broken, Wally has 
found a footing, and now, listen! An echoing cry 
rises from the depths, and a quivering response 
bursts from every throat. Again the rope is slack, 
they wind it in, and again it is loosened once or twice; 
it would seem that Wally is climbing up the preci- 
pice. Meanwhile the day has broken, but a fine, 
cold rain is drizzling down and the swirl of fog 
below is thicker than ever. Now the rope sharply 
jerked to the right takes a slanting direction; the 
men follow it and pass from the left to the right 
side of the bridge. Wally seems to mount higher 
and higher; they continue to haul in. 

“God be praised!” said some, “he cannot have 
fallen so deep; if he lies so far up, he may still 
live.” “Perhaps she’s only looking for him,” said 
others. Now another pull at the rope, and then a 
sudden slackening, and a soul-piercing scream. 

“It’s broken!” shrieked the people. 

No, it is taut again — perhaps it was a scream 
of joy— perhaps she has found him. The women 
fall on their knees, even the men pray, for though 
all hated the haughty “peasant-mistress” — still, for 
the devoted girl who hangs down there in the 
chaos between life and death, every one that has a 
human heart trembles. If only a ray of sunshine 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 235 

would pierce the gloom for one single moment! 
All stand looking down, but they can distinguish 
nothing; they must leave it to time that passes with 
such slow reluctance, to reveal the event. 

The rope remains immovable, but not another 
sound reaches them from below. Is it broken and 
caught on some point of rock, while Wally lies 
dashed to pieces below? Why is there no signal, 
no call? And hours must pass before they can get 
help from the villages round. 

No one dares to speak a word — all stand 
listening with suspended breath. Suddenly old 
Klettenmaier comes running up, beckoning and 
shouting. 

“See what I’ve got / 7 he called out, showing a 
whole length of stout rope thrown over his shoul- 
ders. “Thank God, when Wally spoke of the vul- 
ture, it all at once struck me that old Luckard had 
had the rope laid by that Stromminger let Wally 
down to the vulture’s nest with; — and there sure 
enough I found it, in the loft under a heap of 
old lumber.” 

“That is a find!” “Klettenmaier, that’s a real 
godsend,” cried the people confusedly. “God grant 
it may yet be of use,” said the patriarch of the 
village, looking despondingly at the cord of de- 
liverance, “she gives no farther sign!” 


236 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“The rope is pulled!” shouted the foremost 
man of the chain, and at the same moment a cry 
came up, so close at hand, that when all was 
silent they could catch the words: “Is there no 
more rope?” 

“Ay, ay, plenty!” resounded joyfully from every 
side. A grappling iron was fastened for an anchor 
on to the end of the rope, a fresh chain of men 
was formed, and it was cast into the impenetrably 
shrouded abyss. The oldest of the peasants gave 
the word of command — for the ropes must be paid 
out exactly together, so that Wally might be close 
to the injured man and support him. Not half so 
far down as Wally had gone at first, the rope was 
caught below, and held fast. 

“Let out!” said the leader, in order that Wally 
might have a few more yards to fasten round Jo- 
seph. “Enough,” he called out then, and like 
soldiers at the word of command, the men stood 
awaiting the next order. Again a few minutes’ 
pause; she must make the loop securely and care- 
fully, so that the senseless man, now so nearly 
saved, might not fall again into the abyss. 

“Tie it fast, Wally,” panted Klettenmaier, half 
beside himself. 

“Yes, for God’s sake, let her make it fast,” 
echoed the people. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


237 


A thrice-repeated pull at both ropes at once. 
“Haul in!” commanded the leader, and his voice 
trembled as he spoke. The men at both ropes set 
their feet firmly in the ground, the veins swell in 
legs and arms and brows, sinewy hands are stretched 
forward to pull, and the lifting of the heavy loads 
begins. A fearful and responsible task! — if one 
fails, all is lost. 

“Steady,” warns the leader, “watch each 
other.” 

It is a solemn moment. Even the children dare 
not stir; nothing is audible far or near but the 
deep breath of the toiling men. 

Now! — now they appear through the mist, more 
and more distinctly. — Wally emerges with one arm 
supporting the lifeless body that hangs to the saving 
rope, whilst with the other she powerfully bears off 
from the precipice with her Alpenstock, to keep 
herself and him from being dashed against it. In 
this way, as if rowing, she ascends upwards through 
the sea of clouds. And at last they are there, close 
to the edge, — one pull more, and they can be 
lifted up. 

“Steady,” says the leader — every breath is held 
— the last moment is the worst — if the rope were 
to break now! 

But no, the foremost of the chain stoop and 


238 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

seize them with a firm grasp, those behind hold 
fast to the rope. 

“Up!” cry the men in front. They are raised 
— they are there — they are on firm ground, and a 
ringing shout of joy relieves the long-oppressed 
hearts of the bystanders. Wally has sunk speechless 
on the inanimate body of Joseph. She does not 
see, she does not hear, how all crowd round her 
and praise her — she lies with her face upon his 
breast — her strength is gone. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


239 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Back to her Father. 

In Wally’s room, on Wally’s bed, lay Joseph, 
stretched out, insensible. All was silent and still 
around him; she had sent every one away, she knelt 
by the bed, she hid her face in her convulsively 
clasped hands, and prayed. 

“Oh, Lord God! — my God! my God! have 
mercy and let him live; take from me everything — 
everything — but let him live. I’ll ask no more of 
him, I’ll shun him — I’ll leave him to Afra even 
— only he must not die!” And then she stood 
up again and made fresh bandages for his head 
where the blood flowed from a gaping wound, and 
for his breast that had been torn by the crag, and 
threw herself upon him as though with her body 
she would close those portals through which his 
life was streaming away. 

“Oh, thou poor lad! thou poor lad! so stricken 
and brought down — oh, the sin of it — the sin of it! 
Wally, Wally, what hast thou done? Should thou 
not sooner have struck a knife into thine own 
heart — sooner have stood by at Afra’s wedding, 


240 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


then gone home quietly and died, than have laid 
him there to see him perish like cattle that the 
butcher has felled?” 

Thus she lamented out loud whilst she bound 
his wounds, turning against herself with the same 
anger with which she had been used to revenge 
herself on others. She would have torn her heart 
out with her own hands if she could, in the wild 
and frenzied remorse that had seized her. Just 
then the door opened softly. Wally looked round 
in astonishment, for she had forbidden any one to 
disturb her. It was the cure of Heiligkreuz. Wally 
stood before him as before her judge, pale, trem- 
bling in her very soul. 

“God be praised!” cried the old man, “he is 
here then.” He went up to the bed, looked at Jo- 
seph, and felt him. “Poor fellow,” he said, “you 
have been roughly handled.” 

Wally set her teeth to keep herself from crying 
out at these words. 

“How did they get him up again?” asked the 
priest, but Wally could not answer. 

“Well, thank God, He has averted the worst in 
His mercy,” continued the cure. “Perhaps he will 
get well, and you will then at least have no murder 
on your conscience, though before the eternal judge 
the intention is as bad as the deed.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


24 


Wally tried to speak. 

“I know everything,” he said with severity; 
“Vincenz came to me when he fled, and confessed 
all — your love and his jealousy. I refused him 
absolution, and sent him to join the Papal army; 
there he may earn God’s forgiveness by good 
service to the Holy Father, or expiate his crimes 
by death. But what shall I say to thee, Wally?” 
He looked at her sadly and piercingly with his 
shrewd eyes. 

Wally clasped her hands before her face. “Oh!” 
she cried aloud, “none can punish me with so 
bitter a punishment as I have brought on myself. 
There he lies dying, whom I loved best in all the 
world, and I have to tell myself that I did it. Can 
there be greater misery than that? Needs there 
anything more?” 

The priest nodded his head. “This then is what 
you have done — you have become a rough piece 
of wood, fit to slay men with! It has happened as 
I told you; you have resisted the knife of God, 
and now the Lord casts you on one side and leaves 
the hard wood to burn in the fire of repentance.” 

“Ay, your reverence, it is so, but I know of 
water that will quench that fire. Into the Ache I 
will fling myself if Joseph dies — then all will be at 
an end.” 


The Vulture-Maiden, 


16 


2\2 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Alas, poor fool! do you think that is a flame 
that earthly water can quench? Do you really 
think that, with your earthly body, you can drown 
your immortal soul? That would burn in the tor- 
menting flame of eternal remorse, even if all the 
seas in the world were poured upon it.” 

“What shall I do then?” said Wally gloomily; 
“what can I do but die?” 

“Live and suffer: that is nobler than death.” 

Wally shook her head. Her dark eyes looked 
vaguely before her. “I cannot — I feel it — I cannot 
live, the phantom maidens thrust me down — all has 
happened as they threatened me in my dream: 
there lies Joseph crushed and broken, and I must 
follow him; it is fated so, and it must happen so, 
none can prevent it.” 

“Wally, Wally!” cried the priest, clasping his 
hands in horror, “what are you saying? The phan- 
tom maidens? What phantom maidens? In Heaven’s 
name! do we live in the dark heathen times when 
men believed that evil spirits made sport of them? 
I will tell you who the phantom maidens are : — your 
own passions. If you had learnt to tame your own 
wild unbridled will, Joseph would never have fallen 
over the precipice. It is easy to lay the blame of 
your own evil deeds to the influence of hostile 
powers. For that it is that our Lord came to us, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


243 


to teach us to acknowledge that we bear the evil 
in ourselves, and must fight with it. If we control 
ourselves, we control the mysterious powers which 
drove even the giants of the past to destruction, be- 
cause with all their strength they had no moral power 
to withstand them. And with all your strength, your 
hardness and your daring, you are but a pitiful, 
weak creature, so long as you do not know what 
every homely, simple handmaid of the Lord per- 
forms, who, every day in the strict discipline of her 
cloister-life, lays on God’s altar the dearest wish 
of her heart, and esteems herself blessed in the 
sacrifice! If you had only one glimmer of such 
greatness in your soul, you need have no more 
fear of the ‘phantom maidens/ and your foolish 
dreams would no longer direct your destiny, but 
your own clear and conscious will. Reflect for 
once whether that were not nobler and hap- 
pier.” 

Wally leaned against the bed-post; she felt as 
if raised to a newly-awakened and noble conscious- 
ness. “Yes,” she said shortly and decidedly, and 
crossed her arms on her heaving breast, “your 
reverence is right — I understand, and I will try.” 

“I will try!” repeated the old priest, “once be- 
fore you said that to me — but you did not keep 
your word.” 

16* 


244 THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 

“This time, your reverence, I will keep it,” said 
Wally, and the priest silently admired the expression 
with which she spoke the simple words. 

“What security will you give me?” he said. 

Wally laid her hand on Joseph’s wounded 
breast, and two large tears sprang to her eyes; no 
spoken vow could have said more. The wise priest 
was silent also, he knew no more was needed. 

The wounded man turned in his bed and mut- 
tered some unintelligible words. Wally made him 
a fresh bandage for his head; he half-opened his 
eyes, but closed them again and fell back in a 
death-like slumber. 

“If only the doctor would come!” said Wally, 
seating herself on a stool by the bed. “What o’clock 
may it be?” 

The priest looked at his watch. “What time 
did you send for him?” he said. 

“About five o’clock.” 

“Then he cannot be here yet. It is only ten 
o’clock, and it is quite three hours to Solden.” 

“Only ten o’clock,” Wally repeated in a low 
voice, and the good priest was filled with pity 
to see her sit there so quietly, her hands folded in 
her lap, whilst her heart beat with anguish so that 
it could be heard. 

He bent over the sick man, and felt his head 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


245 


and his hands, “I think you may be easy, Wally,” 
he said, “he does not appear to me like a dying 
man.” 

Wally sat motionless, gazing fixedly before her. 
“If the doctor comes and says that he’ll live, I care 
for nothing more in this world,” she said. 

“That is right, Wally, I am glad to hear you 
say that,” said the cure approvingly, “and now re- 
late to me how it was that Joseph was saved — that 
will help to shorten the time till the doctor comes.” 

“There’s not much to tell,” answered Wally 
shortly. 

“Nay, it is a noble deed that does honour to 
the men of the Sonnenplatte,” said the priest, “were 
you not there?” 

“Oh yes!” 

“Well then, be less short in your answers. I 
spoke with no one on the way, and have heard no- 
thing about it. Who fetched him up from the ravine?” 

“I!” 

“God be gracious! You, Wally? you yourself?” 
cried the old man; staring at her with astonishment. 

“Yes— I!” 

“But how can you have done it?” 

“They let me down by a rope, and I found 
him fixed between a rock and the trunk of a fir- 
tree; if the tree had not been there he must have 


246 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


fallen into the torrent, and no one’d ever have seen 
him alive again .” 

“ Child cried the old man, “that is a great 
thing to have done.” 

“May be so,” she answered quietly, almost 
hardly, “as I’d had him thrown yonder, it was for 
me to fetch him up again.” 

“You are right, — that was only fair,” said the 
priest, controlling his emotion with difficulty. “But 
it is not the less an act of atonement that may 
take some part of the guilt from your hapless 
soul.” 

“That is all nothing,” said Wally, shaking her 
head. “If he dies, it’s I that have murdered him.” 

“That is true, but you gave a life for a life. 
You risked your own to save his; you have atoned 
as far as was in your power for the crime you have 
committed — the issue is in God’s hands.” 

Wally heaved a deep sigh; she could not take 
in the comfort that lay in the priest’s words. “The 
issue is in God’s hand,” she repeated out of the 
depths of her burdened heart. 

The eye of the priest rested on her with content; 
God would not reject this soul, in spite of its great 
faults and imperfections. Never yet, old as he 
was, had he met with her equal in power for good, 
as for evil. He looked at the wounded man who 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


247 


unconsciously clenched his fist in defiance. It al- 
most angered him that he should despise the noblest 
gift that earth can offer man — a devoted love; that 
through his indifference he should have had it in 
his power to harden a heart so noble in its 
nature and capable of such high-minded sacrifice. 
“You stupid peasant-lout,” he muttered between 
his teeth. 

Wally looked at him enquiringly: she had not 
understood. 

There was a knock at the door, and at the same 
moment the doctor entered the room. W ally trembled 
so that she was obliged to hold by the bedpost. 
Here was the man on whose lips hung redemption 
or condemnation. A crowd of people pressed in 
after him to hear what he would say, but he soon 
turned them all out again. “This is no place for 
curiosity; the sick man must have the most perfect 
quiet,” he said decidedly, and shut the door. He 
was a man of few words. Only, when he took the 
bandage from the sick man’s head, “There has 
been foul play again here,” he muttered. 

Wally stood white and silent as a statue. The 
cure purposely avoided looking at her; he feared 
to disturb her sel-f-possession. The examination 
began; anxious silence reigned in the little chamber. 
Wally stood by the window with averted face while 


248 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


the surgeon examined the wounds and used his 
probe. She had picked up something from the 
ground which she held convulsively clasped be- 
tween her hands, and pressed again and again to 
her lips. It was the thorn-crowned head of the 
Redeemer that she had broken in the night. “For- 
give, forgive,” she prayed, pale and quivering in 
her deadly anguish. “Have mercy on me — I de- 
serve nothing — but let Thy mercy be greater than 
my sin.” 

“None of the wounds are mortal,” said the 
doctor in his dry way. “The fellow must have 
joints like an elephant.” 

Then Wally’s strength went from her. The 
chord, too long and too highly strung, gave way* 
and loudly sobbing she threw herself on her knees 
by the bed, and buried her face in Joseph’s pillows. 
“Oh, thank God! Thank God!” 

“What is the matter with her?” asked the 
doctor. The priest answered him by a sign that 
he understood. 

“Come, collect yourself,” he said, “and help 
me to put on the bandages.” 

Wally sprang up at once, wiped the tears from 
her eyes, and lent a helping hand. The priest ob- 
served with secret pleasure that she assisted the 
doctor as carefully and skilfully as a sister of 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 249 

charity; she did not tremble, she wept no more, she 
showed a steady and quiet self-control — the true 
self-control of love. And withal there was a glory 
on her brow, a glory in the midst of sorrow, so 
that the priest hardly knew her. 

“She will do yet — she will do,” he said joyfully 
to himself, like a gardener who sees some treasured 
faded plant suddenly put forth new shoots. 

When the bandages were all fixed and the doctor 
had given his further orders, the priest went out 
with him, and Wally remained alone with Joseph. 
She sat down on the stool by the bed and rested 
her arms on her knees. He breathed softly and 
regularly now, his hand lay close to her on the 
counterpane — she could have kissed it without 
moving from her place. But she did not do it, she 
felt as if now she dared not touch even one of his 
fingers. If he had lain there dying or dead, then 
she would have covered him with kisses, as here- 
tofore, when she believed him lost; the dead 
would have belonged to her — on the living she 
had no claim! He had died to her in the moment 
when the doctor had said he would live, and she 
buried him with anguish as for the dead in her 
heart, while the message of his resurrection came to 
her as the message of redemption. So she sat 
long, motionless by the side of the bed with her 


250 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


eyes fixed on Joseph’s beautiful, pale face — suffering 
to the utmost what a human soul can suffer — but 
suffering patiently. She neither sighed nor lamented 
now, nor clenched her fist as formerly, in anger at 
her own pain; she had in this hour learnt the 
hardest of all lessons — she had learnt to endure. 
What sort of right had she, the guilty one, to com- 
plain— what better did she deserve? How could 
she dare still to wish for him, she who had almost 
been his murderess? How could she dare even to 
raise her eyes to him? No, she would bewail her- 
self no more. “Thou dear God, let me expiate it 
as Thou will — no punishment is too great for such 
as I am — ” So she prayed, and bowed her head 
humbly on her clasped hands. 

All at once the door was flung open, and with 
a cry of “Joseph, my own Joseph!” a girl rushed 
in, past Wally, and threw herself weeping upon 
Joseph; it was Afra. Wally had started up as if a 
snake had touched her: for an instant the battle 
raged within, the last and hardest fight. She grasped 
herself, as it were, with her own arms, as though 
to keep herself back from falling upon the girl and 
tearing her away from the bed — from Joseph. So 
she stood for a time, while Afra sobbed violently 
on Joseph’s breast; then her arms fell by her side 
as if paralyzed, and beads of cold sweat stood on 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 2 5 I 

her brow. What would she have? Afra was in 
her rights. 

“Afra,” she said in a low voice, “if thou truly 
loves Joseph, be still and cease these cries — the 
doctor says he must have perfect quiet.” 

“Who can be still that has a heart, and sees 
the lad lie there like that?” lamented Afra, “it’s 
easy for thee to talk, thou doesn’t love him as I do. 
Joseph is all I have — if Joseph dies I am all alone 
in the world! Oh Joseph, dear Joseph — wake up, 
look at me — only once — only one word!” and she 
shook him in her arms. 

A low groan escaped from Joseph’s lips and he 
murmured a few unintelligible words. 

Then Wally stepped forward and took Afra 
gently but firmly by the arm; not a muscle of her 
pale face moved. 

“I have this to say to thee, Afra: Joseph is 
here under my protection, and I am responsible for 
all being done according to the doctor’s orders; 
and this is my house that thou’rt in, and if thou 
will not do what I tell thee, and leave Joseph in 
peace, as the doctor wishes, I’ll use my right and 
put thee out at the door, till thou’s come to thy 
senses and art fit to take care of him again — then,” 
her voice trembled, “I’ll leave him to thee.” 

“Oh, thou wicked thing, thou — ” cried Afra 


252 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


passionately, “thou’d turn me out of the house be- 
cause I weep for Joseph? Dost think everyone has 
so hard a heart as thou, and can stand there look- 
ing on like a stone? Let go my arm! I’ve a better 
right than thou to Joseph, and if thou doesn’t like 
to hear me cry, I’ll take him up in my arms and 
carry him home — there at least I can weep as much 
as I please. I’m only a poor servant-maid, but if 
I’d to pay for it by serving all my days for nothing, 
I’d sooner nurse him in my own little room than 
let myself be shown the door by thee — thou haughty 
peasant-mistress!” 

Wally let go of Afra’s arm; she stood before her 
with a white face, and with marks of such deadly 
suffering round her closed lips, that Afra cast down 
her eyes in shame, as if she divined how unjust she 
had been. 

“Afra,” said Wally, “thou’s no need to show 
such hatred, I don’t deserve it of thee; for it was 
for thee I fetched him out of the abyss — not for 
me, — and it is for thee he will live, not for me! 
Look here, Afra, only an hour ago I’d sooner have 
throttled thee than have left thee by his bedside — 
but now all is broken, my spirit, and my pride, 
and — my heart,” she added low to herself. “And 
so I’ll make way for thee willingly, for he loves 
thee, and with me he’ll have nought to do. Stay 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


253 


thou with him in peace — thou need not take away 
the poor sick man. Sooner will I go myself. You 
two can stay at the farm so long as you will — I 
will account for it with him to whom it belongs 
now. And I will take care of you in everything, 
for you are both of you poor, and cannot marry if 
you have nothing. And so perhaps some day 
Joseph will bless the Vulture-maiden — ” 

“Wally, Wally,” cried Afra. “What art thou 
thinking of? I pray thee — oh Joseph, Joseph — if 
only I might speak!” 

“Let it be,” said Wally, “keep thyself quiet — 
for love of Joseph, keep thyself quiet. And now 
let me go in peace; torment me no more, for go I 
must. Only one thing I pray thee in return for 
what I’ve done for thee, take good care of him. 
Promise me thou will, that I may go with an easy 
mind.” 

“Wally,” said Afra entreatingly, “don’t thou do 
that, don’t go away! What will Joseph say when 
he hears we’ve driven thee out of thy own house?” 

“Spare all words, Afra,” said Wally firmly, 
“when once I have said a thing, it stands, come 
what may.” 

She went to the chest, and took out a change 
of clothes, which she tied together in a bundle and 
threw over her shoulder. Then from a box she 


254 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


took a bundle of linen. “See, Afra,” she said, 
“here is old and fine linen that thou’ll need for 
bandages, and here is coarser to make lint, which 
the doctor will want when he comes this evening. 
Look, there are scissors — thou must cut it into strips 
the length of my finger. Dost understand? And 
every quarter of an hour, thou must put a fresh 
bandage on his head to draw the heat out. Tell 
me, can I trust thee not to forget? Think what 
it would be if, after I have fetched him out of the 
ravine, I should find that thou — thou had been 
careless in nursing him — here, at his bedside. And 
see, he must always lie with his head high, that the 
blood may not go to it — and shake the pillows up 
often. That is all, I think, now — I know of nought 
else. Ah, my God, thou’ll not be able to lift him 
and lay him down as I do — thou hasn’t got the 
strength. Get Klettenmaier to help thee; he is trust- 
worthy. Now I leave him in thy hands — ” Her 
voice failed her, her knees trembled, she could 
hardly hold the bundle that she carried. She 
threw a last glance at the wounded man: “God 
keep thee!” she said, and left the room. 

Outside, the priest was talking with Kletten- 
maier. Wally went up to them'. 

“Klettenmaier,” she shouted in the old man’s 
ear, “Go in and help Afra to mind Joseph; Afra is 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


2 55 


there now in my place. Joseph will stay at the 
farm, and I am going away. You are all to treat 
Joseph as if he were the master, and to obey him 
as if I were by, till I come back; and woe to 
you, if he has to complain of ought. Let all the 
servants know!” 

Klettenmaier had understood, and shook his 
head, but he did not venture to make any remark. 
“Good-bye, mistress,” he said, “Come back again 
soon.” 

“Never!” said Wally softly. 

Klettenmaier went into the house; Wally stood 
before the priest, and met his questioning glance. 
“Now nought is my own that my heart clings to, 
but the vulture,” she said sadly, as if exhausted. 
“But him I cannot give up — he must come with me. 
Come, Hansl.” She beckoned to the bird, which 
sat puffed up and drowsy on a railing; he came 
flying towards her with difficulty. 

“Thou must learn to fly again now, Hansl,” 
she said, “we’re going away.” 

“Wally,” said the priest, much concerned, “what 
do you mean to do?” 

“Your reverence, I must go away — Afra is in 
there! Is it not plain that I cannot stay? I will 
do anything, I will all my life go bare and home- 
less, and wander through the country, and leave 


256 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


everything to him — everything — but I cannot look 
on at his Afra’s love — only that I cannot — cannot 
bear!” She set her teeth to keep back the spring- 
ing tears. 

“And for his sake you will really give up house 
and home? Do you know what you are doing, my 
child?” 

“The farm no longer belongs to me, your 
reverence. Since yesterday Tve known that it be- 
longs to Vincenz, whenever he puts in his claim. 
But my money, what I have besides, shall be for 
Joseph. If he is crippled by my fault, and cannot 
earn his bread, — it is my accursed guilt, and I must 
provide for him.” 

“What, is it possible,” cried the priest, “that 
your father disinherited you of house and home?” 

“What do I care for house and home? The 
home I belong to is always ready,” said Wally. 

“Child,” said the old man, much disturbed, 
“you would not do yourself an injury?” 

“No, your reverence, never now. I see now 
how right you are in everything, and that God 
Almighty will not be defied by us. Perhaps, when 
He sees that I truly repent, He’ll have pity on me 
and grant peace to my weary soul.” 

“Now blessed be the hour, hard though it may 
have been, that broke your proud spirit! Now 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


257 


Wally, you are truly great! But where are you 
going, my child? Will you go to some charitable 
refuge? Shall I take you to the Carmelites?” 

“No, your reverence, that would never suit the 
Vulture-maiden. I cannot be shut up in a cell 
between walls — under God’s free sky, as I have 
lived, will I die — I should feel as if God could not 
come through such thick walls. I’ll repent and 
pray as if I were in a church, but I must have the 
rocks and the clouds about me, and the wind 
whistling in my ears, or I couldn’t get on at all — 
you understand, do you not?” 

“Yes, I understand, and it would be folly to 
try to dissuade you. But where then are you 
going?” 

“I’m going back to my father Murzoll — there is 
now my only home.” 

“Do as you will,” said the priest. “Go in God’s 
name, my child — I can part from you in peace, for 
wherever you go now — it is back to your Father!” 


The Vulture- Maiden. 


17 


258 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The Message of Grace. 

High up on the lonely Ferner, near her stony 
father, once more sits the outcast, solitary child 
of man : — spell-bound, as it were, like a part of 
the dizzy heights from which she looks down 
on the little world below, in which no space could 
be found for the large and alien heart that had 
matured in the wilderness among the glacier-storms. 
Men have hunted and driven her forth, and that 
has been fulfilled that her dream foretold, the 
mountain has adopted her as its child. She be- 
longs to the mountain now; stone and ice are her 
home — and yet she cannot turn to stone her- 
self, and the warm and hapless human heart is 
silently bleeding to death up here between stone 
and ice. 

Twice had the moon’s disk waxed and waned 
since the day when Wally sought this, her last re- 
fuge. No familiar face from amongst the dwellers 
in the valley had she seen. Only once the priest had 
dragged his old and frail body up the mountain 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


259 


to tell her that Joseph was recovering; further, 
that news had come from Italy that shortly after 
enlisting Vincenz had been shot, and had left to 
her the whole of his possessions. Then she had 
folded her hands on her knees, and said quietly, 
“It is well for him — it is soon over,” as if she en- 
vied him. 

“But what will you do with all this money?” 
the priest had asked her, “who will manage your 
immense property? You must not let it all go to 
' ruin.” 

“Gold and goods plentiful as straw — and no help 
in them,” said Wally, “they cannot buy for me 
one short hour of happiness. When time has gone 
by, and I can think of things again, I’ll go down 
to Imst and make it all sure that my property be- 
comes Joseph’s. For myself I’ll keep only enough 
to have a little house built further on, under the 
mountain, for the winter — but now I must have 
peace, I can care for nothing now. Manage things 
for me, your reverence, and see that the servants 
get their due, and give the poor what they need; 
there shall be no poor on the Sonnenplatte from 
this day forward.” 

Thus briefly had she settled her worldly affairs 
as though on the brink of the next world: it re- 
mained to her only to await her hour — the hour 

17* 


26 o 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


of deliverance. It seemed to her as if God had 
said by the mouth of the priest, “Thou shalt not 
come to me, till I myself fetch thee.” And now 
she waited till He should fetch her — but how long, 
how terribly long the time might be! She looked 
at her powerfully-built frame — it was not planned 
for an early death, and yet death was her only 
hope. She knew and understood that she must 
not end her days with violence, that her atonement 
must be consecrated; but she thought — surely she 
might help the good God to set her free when it 
should please Him! And so she did everything 
that might injure the strongest body. It was not 
suicide to take only just enough nourishment to 
keep herself from starving — fasting is ever a help to 
penitence — nor to expose herself day and night to 
the storm and rain from which even the vulture 
took shelter in a cleft of the rock, so that wet, 
frost, and privation began gradually to undermine 
her healthy constitution. It was not self-murder to 
climb the cliffs no mortal foot had trodden, it was 
only to give the good God the opportunity to fling 
her down — if He would! And with a sort of 
gloomy pleasure she watched her beautiful body 
waste away, she felt her strength diminish, often 
she sank down with fatigue if she had wandered 
far, and when she climbed, her knees trembled and 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


26l 


her breath grew short. Thus she sat one day 
weary on one of Murzoll’s highest peaks. Around 
her, piled one upon another, rose white pinnacles 
and blocks of ice; it looked like a church-yard in 
winter where the snow-covered grave-stones stand 
in rows side by side, no longer veiled by clinging 
leaf or blossom. Immediately at her feet lay the 
green-gleaming sea of ice with its frozen waves, 
that flowed onwards as far as the pass leading over 
the mountain. Deepest silence as of the tomb 
dwelt in this frozen, motionless upper world. The 
distance with its endless perspective of mountains 
lay dreamily veiled in soft noonday mists. On Si- 
milaun, close to the brown Riesenhorn, nestled a 
small, bright cloud, that clung to it caressingly 
and was wafted up to sink again, till at last, torn 
on the sharp edges of the frightful precipices, it 
disappeared. 

Wally lay supported on her elbow, and her eye 
mechanically followed the drift of the tiny cloud. 
The mid-day sun burned above her head, the vul- 
ture sat not far off, lazily pruning himself and 
spreading his wings. Suddenly he became uneasy, 
turned his head as if listening, stretched his neck, 
and flew croaking a short way higher up. Wally 
raised herself a little to see what had startled the 
bird. There, over the slippery, fissured glacier 


262 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


came a human form straight towards the rock where 
Wally sat. She recognized the dark eyes, the short, 
black beard, she saw the friendly glance and greet- 
ing, she heard the “Jodel” that he sent up to her 
— as once years ago, when from the Sonnenplatte 
she had seen him pass through the gorge with the 
stranger — she, an innocent, hopeful child in those 
days, not yet cast out and cursed by her father — 
not yet an incendiary — not yet a murderess. As a 
whole landscape bursts from the darkness with all 
its heights and depths revealed, under a flash of 
lightning — so the whole destined chain of events 
passed before her soul, and shuddering, she re- 
cognized the depth to which she was fallen. 

What had she been then — and what was she 
now? And what did he seek who had never sought 
her then, what did he seek now of her, the con- 
demned one — the dead-alive? 

She gazed downwards in unspeakable terror. 
“Oh God! he is coming,” she cried aloud, and 
clung to the rock in mortal anguish as if it were 
the hand of her stony father. “Joseph — stay below 
— not up here — for God’s sake not up here — go — 
turn back — I cannot, will not see thee — but Jo- 
seph, who had mounted the rock at a quick run, 
was coming towards her. Wally hid her face 
against the stone, stretching out her hands, as if 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


263 


to defend herself against him. “Can one be alone 
nowhere in this world?” she cried, trembling 
from head to foot. “Dost thou not hear? Leave 
me. With me thou’st nought to do — I am dead 
— as good as dead am I — can I not even die in 
peace?” 

“Wally, Wally, art thou beside thyself?” cried 
Joseph, and he pulled her from the rock with his 
powerful arms, as one might loosen some close- 
growing moss. “Look at me, Wally — for God’s 
sake — why will thou not look at me? I am Jo- 
seph, Joseph whose life thou saved — that’s not a 
thing one does for those one cannot bear to 
look at.” 

He held her in his arms, she had fallen on one 
knee, she could not move, she could not defend 
herself; she was no longer the Wally of former 
days, she was weak and powerless. Like a victim 
beneath the sacrificial knife, she bowed her head as 
if to meet the last stroke. 

“Good Heavens, maiden! thou looks ready to 
die. Is this the haughty Wallburga Stromminger? 
Wally, Wally — speak then — come to thyself. This 
comes of living up here in the wilds where one 
might forget to speak one’s mother-tongue almost. 
Thou’rt quite fallen away; come, lean on me and 
I’ll lead thee down to thy hut. I’m no hero myself 


264 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


yet, but even so I’ve somewhat more strength than 
thee. Come — one gets dizzy up here, and I’ve 
much to say to thee, Wally — much to say.” 

Almost without will of her own, Wally let her- 
self be led step by step, as, without speaking, he 
guided her uncertain footsteps over the glacier and 
down to her hut. There however they found the 
herdsman, and pausing therefore, Joseph let the girl 
glide from his support on to a meadow of mountain 
grass. She sat silent and resigned with folded 
hands; it was God’s will to send her this trial also, 
and she prayed only that she might remain stead- 
fast. 

Joseph placed himself beside her, rested his 
chin on his hand, and looked with glowing eyes 
into her grief-worn face. 

“I have much to account for to thee, Wally,” 
he said earnestly, “and I should have come long 
ago if the doctor and the cure would have let me; 
but they said it might cost me my life if I went 
up the mountain too soon, and I thought that were 
a pity — for — now I first rightly value my life, 
Wally — ” he took her hand, “since thou’st saved it 
— for when I heard that, I knew how it stood with 
thee — and just so it stands with me, Wally!” He 
stroked her hand gently. 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 2 65 

Wally snatched it from him in sheer terror; it 
almost took her breath away. 

“Joseph, I know now what thou would say! 
Thou think’st that because I saved thy life, thou 
must love me out of gratitude and leave Afra in 
the lurch after all. Joseph, that thou need not 
think, for so sure as there is a God in Heaven — 
wretched am I and bad — but not so bad as to take 
a reward I don’t deserve, nor to let a heart be 
given me like wages — a heart too that I must steal 
from another. Nay, that the Vulture-maiden will 
not do — whatever else she may have done! Thank 
God, there’s still some wickedness even I am not 
capable of,” she added softly to herself. And col- 
lecting all her strength, she stood up and would 
have gone to the hut where the herdsman sat 
whistling a tune. But Joseph held her fast in both 
arms. 

“Wally, hear me first,” he said. 

“Nay, Joseph!” she said with white lips, but 
proudly erect, “not another word. I thank thee 
for thy good intention — but thou dostn’t know me 
yet.” 

“Wally, I tell thee thou must hear me for a 
moment — dost understand? Thou must” He laid 
his hand on her shoulder and fixed his eyes on her 


266 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


with an expression so imperious that she broke 
down and gave way. 

“Speak then,” she said as if exhausted, and 
seated herself, far from him, on a stone. 

“That is right — now I see thou can obey,” he 
said, smiling good-humouredly. 

He stretched his finely- formed limbs on the 
grass, laid the jacket he had thrown off under his 
elbow and supported himself on it; his warm breath 
floated towards Wally as he spoke. She sat mo- 
tionless with downcast eyes; the internal struggle 
gradually brought the hot colour to her face, but 
outwardly she was calm, almost indifferent. 

“See, Wally, — I will tell thee exactly how it is,” 
Joseph went on, “I could never bear thee formerly, 
because I didn’t know thee. I heard so much 
of how wild and rough thou wert, and so I took 
a bad opinion of thee and would never have 
to do with thee at all. That thou’rt a fine and 
handsome maid I could see all the while — but I 
didn’t want to see! So I always kept out of thy 
way, till the quarrel happened between thee and 
Afra — but that I could not let pass. For see, 
Wally — what is done to Afra is done to me, and 
when Afra is hurt it cuts me to the heart, for 
thou must know — well, it must come out, my 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 2 6 *J 

mother in her grave will forgive me — Afra is my 
sister.” 

Wally started back, and stared at him as if in 
a dream. He was silent for a moment, and wiped 
his forehead with his linen sleeve. “It’s not right 
for me to talk about it,” he continued, “but thou 
must know, and thou’ll let it go no further. My 
mother told me on her deathbed that before ever 
she knew my father, she had a child out there in 
Vintschgau, and I solemnly promised her that I 
would care for the lass as a sister, and it’s for that 
I fetched her from across the mountains and 
brought her to the Lamb so that she might be 
near me. But we two promised each other that 
we’d keep it secret and not bring shame on our 
mother in her grave. Now dost thou understand 
how I couldn’t let an injury to my sister pass un- 
punished, and stood up for her when she was 
wronged?” 

Wally sat like a statue and struggled for breath. 
She felt as if the mountains and the whole world 
were whirling round her. Now all was clear— now 
too she understood what Afra had said by Joseph’s 
bedside. She held her head with both hands, as if 
she could not grasp the meaning of it all. If it 
were indeed true, how gigantic was the wrong she 
had done. It was not a heartless man who had 


268 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


scorned her for a lowly maid-servant — it was a 
brother fulfilling his duty to a sister that she 
would have killed — she would have bereft a poor 
orphan of her last remaining stay for the sake of a 
blind movement of jealousy. “Good God, if it had 
been so!” she said to herself. She felt giddy — she 
buried her face in her hands, and a dull groan 
escaped her. Joseph, who did not observe her 
agitation, went on. 

“So it came to pass that up at the Lamb I 
swore before them all that I would take down thy 
pride, and do to thee as thou’d done to Afra, and 
so we hatched the plot among us, in spite of Afra 
who’d not have had it done. And all went well; but 
when we wrestled with one another, and when that 
dear and beautiful bosom lay upon my heart, and 
when I kissed thee, it was as if my veins were 
filled with fire. I’d say no word to thee, because 
Ld been thy enemy so long, — but from hour to 
hour the fire grew, and in the night I clasped 
my pillow to me and thought that it was thou, 
and when I woke, I cried out loud for thee and 
sprang out of bed for the ferment and fever I 
was in.” 

“Stop, stop — thou’rt killing me,” cried Wally, 
with cheeks and brow aflame; but he went on pas- 
sionately: “So I went out whilst it was still night, 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


269 


and wandered up to the Sonnenplatte. I’ll tell 
thee all, — I meant to knock at thy window before 
break of day, and I was full of joy to think how 
thou’d put out thy sleepy face, and how I’d 
hold thy head, and make amends for all, and 
ask thy pardon a thousand, thousand times. And 
then — then a shot whistled past my head, and 
directly after another hit my shoulder, and as I 
stumbled some one sprang on me from behind and 
hurled me down from the bridge. And I thought, 
now all is over with love and everything else. 
But thou came, thou angel in maiden’s form, and 
took pity on me, and saved me, and cared for 
me — Oh, Wally!” He threw himself at her feet, 
“Wally, I cannot thank thee as I ought — but all 
the love of all the men in the world put together 
is not so great as the love I have for thee.” 

Then Wally’s strength gave way altogether — 
with a heart-rending cry she thrust Joseph from 
her, and flung herself in wild despair face down- 
wards on the earth. “Oh, so happy as I might 
have been — and now all is over — all, all!” 

“Wally, for God’s sake! — I believe thou’rt really 
mad! What is over? If thee and me love each 
other, all is well!” 

“Oh Joseph, Joseph, thou doesn’t know — nothing 


2 7° 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


can ever be between us two; oh, thou doesn’t know, 
I am outcast and condemned — thy wife I can 
never be — trample on me, strike me dead — me it 
was that had thee flung down yonder.” 

Joseph shrank back at the awful words — he 
was not yet sure that Wally was not mad. He 
had sprung up, and was looking down at her in 
horror. 

“Joseph,” whispered Wally, and clasped his 
knees, “I’ve loved thee ever since I’ve known thee, 
and it was because of thee that my father sent me 
up to the Hochjoch, because of thee that I set fire 
to his house, because of thee that for three years 
I wandered lonely in the wilds, and was hungry 
and frozen and would have died sooner than be 
married to another man. And out of pure jealousy 
I treated Afra as I did, because I thought she was 
thy love and would take thee from me. And thou 
came at last after long, long years that I had 
waited for thee, and thou asked me to the dance 
like a bridegroom — and I believed it, my heart was 
bursting for joy, and I let thee kiss me as a bride, 
but thou — thou mocked me before everyone — 
mocked me! — for all the true love with which I had 
longed for thee — for all the sore trouble that I had 
borne for thee — then all at once everything was 
changed, and I bade Vincenz kill thee.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 2*] l 

Joseph covered his face with his hands. “That 
is horrible,” he said in an undertone. 

“Then in the night I repented,” Wally went on, 
“and I went out, and would have hindered it — but 
it was too late. And now thou’st come to tell me 
that thou loves me, and all would be well if I 
could stand before thee with a clear conscience. 
And I have brought it all on myself with my blind 
rage and wickedness. I thought no wrong could 
be so great as that thou did to me, and it is all 
nothing to what I have done to myself — but it 
serves me right — it serves me quite right.” 

There was a long silence. Wally had pressed 
her damp brow against Joseph’s knee, her whole 
body shook as in a death-agony. An agonizing 
minute passed by. Then she felt a hand gently 
raise her face, and Joseph’s large eyes looked down 
on her with a wonderful expression. 

“Thou poor Wally!” he said softly. 

“Joseph, Joseph, thou mustn’t be so good to 
me,” cried Wally trembling, “take thy gun and kill 
me dead — I’ll hold still and never shrink, but bless 
thee for the deed.” 

He raised her from the ground, he took her 
in his arms, he laid her head on his breast and 
smoothed her disordered hair, then kissed her pas- 


272 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


sionately. “And still I love thee!” he cried in a 
voice like a shout, so that the words rang back 
exultingly from the desert walls of ice. 

Wally stood there hardly conscious, motionless, 
almost sinking under the flood of happiness that 
flowed over her. “Joseph, is it possible? Can thou 
really forgive me — can the great God forgive me?” 
she whispered breathlessly. 

“Wally! He who could listen to thy words 
and look in thy wasted face, and could yet be hard 
to thee— that man would have a stone in the place 
of a heart. I’m a hard fellow, but I could not do 
that.” 

“Oh God!” said Wally, and the tears rushed 
to her eyes, “when I think that I would have stilled 
that heart for ever — !” She wrung her hands in 
despair: “Oh thou good lad — the better and the 
dearer thou art to me, so much the more terrible 
is my remorse. Oh, my peace is gone, for ever 
gone, in earth and in Heaven. Thy servant will 
I be, not thy wife — on thy door-step will I sleep, 
not at thy side — JT1 serve thee, and work for thee, 
and do all thy will before thou can speak the word. 
And if thou strike me, I’ll kiss thy hand, and if 
thou tread on me, I’ll clasp thy knee — and beg and 
pray till thou’rt good to me again. And if thou 
grant me nought but the breath of thy lips, and a 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 273 

glance and a word — still I’ll be content — it’ll still 
be more than I deserve.” 

“And dost think that I should be content?” 
*said Joseph hotly, “dost think a glance and a 
breath are enough for me? Dost think I’d suffer 
that thou should lie on the doorstep, and me in- 
side? Dost think I would not open the door and 
fetch thee in? Dost think perhaps that thou 
would stay outside, when I called to thee to 
come?” 

Wally tried to free herself from his grasp; she 
hid her glowing face in her clasped hands. 

“Be at peace, sweet soul,” Joseph went on 
in his deep, harmonious voice, and drew her 
towards him. “Be at peace, and take that which 
our Lord God sends thee — thou mayst, for 
thou hast atoned nobly. Torment thyself no 
more with self-reproach, for I also have sinned 
heavily towards thee, and provoked thee cruelly 
and rewarded thy long love and faith with mockery 
and scorn. No wonder that thy patience gave way 
at last — what else could one expect? — thou’rt only 
the Vulture Wally! But thou’s quickly repented 
thee, and despised death itself to bring me from the 
depths where no man would have had the heart to 
go, and had me carried to thy room, and laid upon 
thy bed, and thyself hast tended me, till that foolish 

The Vulture- Maiden. 1 8 


274 THE vulture-maiden. 

Afra came and drove thee away, because thou 
thought she was my love. And thou wished to 
give us all thy property that I might be able to 
marry Afra — as thou thought! And then came 
away to the wilderness with thy heavy sorrow! Oh, 
thou poor soul, nought but heart-ache hast thou had 
for my sake since thou’s known me, and shall I not 
love thee now and shall we know no happiness to- 
gether? Nay, Wally, and if the whole world were 
hard to thee — it’s all one to me, I take thee in my 
arms, and none shall do thee an injury.” 

“Is it really true that out of all my shame and 
misery thou’ll take me to thy heart, thy great 
and noble heart? Thou’ll have no fear of the 
wild Vulture-maiden that’s done so many wicked 
things?” 

“I fear the Vulture-maiden — I, Joseph the 
Bear-slayer? No, thou dear child, and were thou 
still wilder than thou art, I fear thee not, I’ll 
conquer thee, that I told thee once before in 
hatred — I tell it thee now in love. And even if 
I could not tame thee, if I knew that within a 
fortnight thou’d murder me, I would not leave thee 
— I could not leave thee. A hundred times have I 
climbed after a chamois when I knew that each 
step might cost me my life — and yet would never 
leave it, and thou — art thou not worth far more to 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


275 


me than any chamois? See Wally — for a single 
hour of thee as thou art to-day, to see thee look at 
me and cling to me as now, will I gladly die.” He 
pressed her to him in a breathless embrace. “A 
fortnight hence thou’ll be my wife, and have no 
thought of killing me — I know it, for now I know 
thy heart.” 

Then Wally sprang up, and raised her arms to- 
wards heaven. “Oh, Thou great and merciful God,” 
she cried, “I will praise Thee and bless Thee my 
whole life long, for it is more than earthly happi- 
ness that Thou hast sent me — it is a message of 
Grace!” 

It was now evening; a mild countenance looked 
down on them as in friendly greeting; the full 
moon stood above the mountain. On the valleys 
lay the shades of evening — it was too late now to 
descend the mountain-side. They went into the 
hut, kindled a fire and sat down on the hearth. It 
was an hour of sweet confidence after long years 
of silence. On the roof sat the Vulture and 
dreamed that he was building himself a nest, the 
rush of the night-wind round the hut was like the 
sound of harps, and through the little window 
shone a star. 

Next morning Wally and Joseph stood at the 
door of the hut ready to set out homewards. 

18* 


27 6 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


“Farewell, God, keep thee, Father Murzoll,” said 
Wally, and the first gleam of morning showed a 
tear glittering in her eye, “I shall never come back 
to thee more. My happiness lies down yonder 
now, but yet I thank thee for giving me a home so 
long, when I was homeless. And thou, old hut, 
thou’ll be empty now, but when I sit with my 
dearest husband down there in a warm room, I’ll 
still think of thee, and how long nights through I’ve 
shivered and wept beneath thy roof, and will always 
be humble and thankful.” 

She turned and laid her hand on Joseph’s arm. 
“Come, Joseph, that we may be at the good priest’s 
at Heiligkreuz before mid-day.” 

“Aye, come — I’m taking thee home, my beauti- 
ful bride! You see, you phantom maidens, I’ve 
won her, and she belongs to me — in spite of you 
and all bad spirits.” 

And he threw out a “Jodel” into the blue dis- 
tance, that sounded like a hymn of rejoicing on 



“B^qfnet,” said Wany, laying her hand on his 
mouth in alarm, “thou mustn’t defy them.” But 
then she smiled with a serene look. “Ah no,” she 
said, “there’s no more ‘phantom maidens’ and no 
more bad spirits — there is only God.” 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


277 

She looked back once more. The snowy peaks 
of the Ferner glowed around in the morning light. 
“Still it is beautiful up here,” she said with linger- 
ing footsteps. 

“Art sorry to come down yonder with me?” 
asked Joseph. 

“If thou wast to lead me into the deepest pit 
under the earth where no gleam of day ever shone, 
still I’d go with thee and never question nor com- 
plain,” she said, and her voice sounded so wonder- 
fully soft that Joseph’s eyes were moist. 

There was a sudden rush down from the roof 
of the hut. “Oh, my Hansl-^-I’d almost forgotten 
thee!” cried Wally. “And thou — ?” she said smiling 
at Joseph, “thou must make friends with him^ for 
now you two are brothers in fate. I fetched thee 
from the precipice as well as him.” 

So they went down the mountain side. It was 
a modest wedding procession, no splendour but 
the golden crown that the morning sunshine wove 
around the bride’s head — no follower but the vul- 
ture that circled high in the air above them — but 
in their hearts was hardly-won, deeply-felt, un- 
speakable joy. 


2 jS 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


Up yonder on the giddy height of the Sonnen- 
platte where once “the wild Highland maid looked 
dreaming down,” where later on she let herself into 
the depths 'of the gloomy abyss to rescue the be- 
loved one, a simple cross stands out against the 
blue sky. It was erected there by the village com- 
munity in memory of Wallburga the Vulture-maiden 
and Joseph the Bear-hunter — the benefactors of the 
whole neighbourhood. 

Wally and Joseph died early, but their name 
lives and will be praised so long and so far as the 
Ache flows. The traveller who passes through the 
gorge late in the evening when the bell rings for 
vespers and the silver crescent of the moon stands 
above the mountains, may see an aged couple 
kneeling up yonder. They are Afra and Benedict 
Klotz, who often come down from Rofen to pray 
by this cross. Wally herself it was who brought 
their hearts together, and to-day on the brink of the 
grave they still bless her memory. 

Below in the gorge, white, misty forms hover 
around the traveller and remind him of the “phantom 
maidens.” Down from the cross there is wafted 
to him a lament as it were out of long-for- 
gotten heroic legends, a lament that the mighty as 


THE VULTURE-MAIDEN. 


279 

well as the feeble must fade and pass away. Still 
this one thought may comfort him — the heroic 
may die, but it cannot perish from off the earth. 
Under the splendid coat of mail of the Nibelungen 
hero, beneath the coarse peasant frocks of a Vul- 
ture-maiden and a Bear-hunter — still we meet with 
ifagain and again. 


THE END. 


PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. 

















































































* *' r ' 

A A * 

* 1 Vj '* ^ V V * y * °* c\ 

* r^ A v * J 

: vv 


. / % 
■* <^ v 



0 <a5 ^ 

* r 

<*. •■•«•'’ A a * 

1 * ** ^ V * * • °* cv> 

\ %.*+ V> • 

* v -* 




o v o 


"W 

* ^ 
.°^ 

«5°* 

V /'A 

*«5 



^ A^ ' 


A>vP J 

* ^ * 

" A* V. - 


o. ^ W«* A 


* * 


*o M o° y O .O' 

^ ^ . * • o„ C> <y 


A 


o * * 


- <w • *■ ' « 

• ° A* 

*. •’o v* ; 

V^K* \ 

■ v^*v° ..,v^y 

't* ^ .VGM?V. ^ 

O 


i * 


^ v 

* ^ * rf 

: v\ v * ^ 


v • 


• ♦ s 


t* "•** A 6 


• cp ^ 

> «? * 
* A V Va < 


C CT o^S. ^O 


V 0 " 0 w 


1 ' F 

. <? ^ 

»\/ %^-'\°° +< 

aP * *v % 

* rC» , 


vV 


STINE 

H 

FLA. ^ 


^ V 

• & <», *• 
• r£* A v ♦ K 

*■ V^ v * JN 

A</V : 


A V 


O . » * ,0 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


ODDEEOVEbEta 


